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NATHAN    THE   WISE 

A   Dramatic  Poem   by 

GOTTHOLD  EPHRAIM  LESSING 

Translated  by 
ELLENT  FROTHINGHAM 


PRECEDED  BY  A  BRIEF  ACCOUNT  OI" 
THE  POET  AND  HIS  WORKS 

AND  FOLLOWED  BT  AN 

ESSAY     ON     THE     POEM 

BY    KUNO    riSCHEB 


NEW    YORK: 
LEYPOLDT  &   HOLT. 

1868. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1867, 

BY  LEYPOLDT  &  HOLT, 

In  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  United  States  for  the 
Southern  District  of  New  York. 


LITTLE,  REXNIE  A  Co.,  Rtereotypers,  Printed  by 

NEW  YORK.  THK  NEW  YOKK  PRIXTIXG  Co 


English 
Reading  Room 


1261 


PUBLISHERS'    NOTICE. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE  is  the  third  of  a  uniform  series 
of  great  foreign  poems  which  the  publishers  have 
lately  begun  to  issue.  The  first  one  was  KING 
RENE'S  DAUGHTER,  from  the  Danish,  which  is  now 
in  the  second  edition.  It  was  followed  by  FRITHIOF'S 
SAGA,  the  national  epic  of  Sweden,  edited  by  Bayard 
Taylor.  The  fourth  of  the  series,  SELECTIONS  FROM 
THE  KALEVALA,  the  national  epic  of  Finland,  trans 
lated  from  a  close  German  version  by  the  late  Pro 
fessor  John  A.  Porter,  of  Yale  College,  will  be  ready 
for  publication  a  few  days  after  the  issue  of  the 
present  volume.  Others  will  be  added  as  rapidly 
as  the  public  appreciation  may  warrant.  Among 
those  in  contemplation  are  Calderon's  LIFE  is  A 
DREAM  ;  Tasso's  AMINTA,  translated  by  Leigh  Hunt  ; 
THE  WOOING  OF  THE  KING'S  DAUGHTER,  from  the 
Norwegian  of  Muench  ;  BORIS  GODOUNOFF,  from 
the  Russian  of  Pouschkine  ;  NALA  AND  DAMAJANTI, 


iv  PUBLISHER?    NOTICE. 

translated  from  the  Sanscrit  by  Milman ;  a  transla 
tion  of  Bodenstedt's  version  of  the  Turkish  songs 
of  Mirza  Scruffy,  and  an  English  version  of  the 
Sakoontala. 

With  the  exception  of  Goethe's  FAUST,  there  is  no 
poem  in  German  literature  which  has  received  so 
much  special  study  as  NATHAN  THE  WISE,  or  which 
has  so  well  rewarded  it.  Probably  the  best  critical 
monograph  which  it  has  generated  is  the  essay  by 
Kuno  Fischer.  This  has  been  translated  by  the 
translator  of  the  poem,  pruned  of  some  of  its  Ger 
man  redundancy,  and  put  into  a  form  better  suited 
than  the  original  one,  to  the  Anglo-Saxon  require 
ments  of  terseness  and  directness.  The  modified 
version  will  be  found  at  the  end  of  this  volume. 


SKETCH   OF   LESSING. 


"  IF  God  held  all  truth  shut  in  his  right  hand, 
and  in  his  left  nothing  but  the  ever-restless  instinct 
for  truth,  though  with  the  condition  of  for  ever 
and  ever  erring,  and  should  say  to  me,  Choose  !  I 
would  bow  reverently  to  his  left  hand,  and  say, 
Father,  give  !  Pure  truth  is  for  Thee  alone  !" 

Two  years  ago,  it  would  have  been  safe  to  say 
that  a  vague  recollection  of  having  somewhere  seen 
a  sentence  like  the  one  we  have  quoted,  was  all  the 
knowledge  of 'Gotthold  Ephraim  Lessing  possessed 
by  the  majority  of  educated  Americans.  Of  course 
there  are  men  who  have  long  known  and  appre 
ciated  him  ;  but  the  number  of  such  is  surprisingly 
small.  He  has  not  had  one  reader  where  Goethe, 
or  Schiller,  or  Jean  Paul,  has  had  a  hundred.  The 
only  one  of  his  works  yet  published  in  this  country 
is  Minna  von  Barnhelm — surely  not  his  most  char 
acteristic  production — and  this  was  reprinted  by  a 


vi  SKETCH   OF  LESSING. 

publisher  of  school-books  from  an  English  edition 
adapted  for  the  use  of  students  of  German.  It  is 
but  a  year  since  Mr.  Spencer  published  Professor 
Evans'  excellent  translation  of  Stahr's  Life  of  Les- 
sing.  The  '  criticisms '  which  the  volume  received, 
clearly  displayed  the  ignorance  existing  in  regard  to 
its  subject.  Among  the  few  notable  exceptions  were 
a  short  notice  in  the  Nation,  and  an  article  in  the 
North  American  Review  for  April,  1867,  by  Professor 
Lowell,  in  which  he  gave  an  admirable  sketch  of 
Lessing's  life  and  character.  A  'Review,'  pub 
lished  in  New  York,  contained  an  'essay,'  the  first 
half  of  which  was  translated  from  the  Kouvelk  Bio- 
graphie  Generate,  and  the  other  half  taken  from  Ap- 
pleton's  Cyclopaedia,  As  far  as  we  have  been  able  to 
learn,  the  American  press  has  supplied  little  more 
than  these  meagre  materials  for  a  knowledge  of  that 
great  and  unique  man. 

The  neglect  that  he  has  received  cannot  be  ac 
counted  for  by  any  proportionate  inferiority  to  his 
better  known  countrymen.  He  was  the  generator 
of  modern  German  literature,  and  it  is  not  on  the 
partly  accidental  position  of  a  pioneer  that  his 
claims  rest.  He  had  a  greatness  of  his  own,  whose 
half  prophetic  character  does  much  to  explain 
the  neglect  which  has  fallen  upon  it.  The  hack 
neyed  term,  "in  advance  of  his  age,"  has  a  very 
deep  significance  when  applied  to  him.  But  we  are 
beginning  to  catch  up  with  him,  and  the  peculiar 


SKETCH  OF  LESSING.  vil 

progress  of  our  _  people  has  already  made  them 
specially  fitted  for  his  teachings. 

For  a  knowledge  of  the  poet  and  his  other  works, 
we  recommend  the  sources  already  named.  We 
have  gleaned  from  them,  for  the  benefit  of  readers 
unwise  enough  to  slight  this  recommendation,  the 
facts  embodied  in  the  following  sketch. 

On  the  22d  of  January,  1729,  Deacon,  afterward 
Pastor  Primarius,  John  Gottfried  Lessing,  of  Ka- 
menz,  in  Upper  Lusatia,  rejoiced,  it  is  to  be  sup 
posed,  over  the  birth  of  his  eldest  son.  The  little 
Lessing  began  life  with  a  line  of  ancestors  at  his 
back  who,  through  scholarly  attainments  and  lib 
eral  ideas,  legitimately  gave  him  the  power  which 
afterward  made  him  great.  For  half-a-dozen  gen 
erations,  his  family  had  been  one  of  jurists,  curates, 
and  burgomasters.  His  grandfather's  thesis,  on 
taking  his  degree  of  Doctor  of  Laws,  was,  "  De 
Religionum  Toleranlia."  Added  to  the  boy's  other 
'inherited  conditions,'  was  a  fine  physical  consti 
tution. 

When  Lessing  was  about  twelve  years  old,  the 
rector  of  the  Kamenz  public  school,  where  Lessing 
went,  published  an  article  defending  the  theme  that 
"The  Stage  is  a  School  of  Eloquence."  This 
brought  all  the  big-wigs  of  the  town  down  upon 
him.  Pastor  Primarius  Lessing  assailed  his  prin 
ciples  in  the  pulpit,  and  at  last  he  had  to  leave  the 
place.  A  friend  of  his — Mylius  by  name,  whom 


Vlll  SKETCH   OF  LESSIXG. 

we  shall  meet  again — wrote  a  satirical  poem  on 
the  circumstance,  in  consequence  of  which  he  was 
imprisoned,  forced  to  apologize,  and  fined.  This 
affair  probably  presented  the  Stage  for  the  first 
time  to  the  notice  of  the  future  founder  of  the 
German  drama.  The  immediate  effect  was,  that 
he  had  to  go  to  another  school — that  of  St.  Afra, 
established  by  the  Elector  Maurice  of  Saxony,  in 
Meissen.  On  the  2ist  of  June,  1841,  a  festival  was 
held  at  that  same  school,  in  honor  of  the  cen 
tennial  anniversary  of  Lessing's  entrance.  The  old 
pastor  took  him  there  to  have  him  prepared  for  the 
ministry.  After  Lessing  left,  he  said  that  he  had 
"already  at  Meissen  understood  how  one  must  learn 
much  there  which  one  cannot  use  in  the  world." 
That  was  more  than  a  hundred  years  ago.  Perhaps 
schools  have  changed  since  then.  At  Meissen, 
Lessing's  favorite  authors  were  Theophrastus,  Plau- 
tus,  and  Terence,  and  he  said  that  he  got  self- 
knowledge  by  reading  "comedies."  At  this  school 
he  wrote  parts  of  a  poem  "On  the  Plurality  of 
Worlds."  One  expression  in  it  is — "They  make 
glorious  shipwreck  who  are  lost  in  seeking  worlds." 
He  also  began  his  first  dramatic  work — a  comedy — 
"The  Young  Scholar,"  of  which  he  says  that  at 
that  time,  when  he  "knew  men  only  from  books, 
a  young  scholar  was  the  only  species  of  fool"  which 
he  could  not  have  been  unacquainted  with. 

In  September,  1846,  when  he  was  seventeen  years 


SKETCH   OF  LESSING.  ix 

old,  he  entered  the  University  of  Leipzic.  While 
there,  he  studied  the  literature  of  the  ancients  with 
an  interest  far  removed  from  the  pedantic  study  of 
their  languages  then  in  \ogue.  He  was  also  one  of 
a  little  coterie  who  talked  philosophy  with  Kaestner, 
a  young  professor  of  great  talent  and  enthusiasm. 
The  world  of  Leipzic  made  Lessing  realize,  as  he 
wrote  to  his  mother,  that  "books  might  make 
him  learned,  but  would  never  make  him  a  man." 
He  felt  himself  pedantic,  awkward,  and  boorish; 
and  in  order  to  correct  these  defects,  learned  dan 
cing,  fencing,  and  riding,  and  sought  society.  The 
theatre  at  once  attracted  him.  He  became  ac 
quainted  with  Madame  Neuber,  the  head  of  the 
dramatic  company — a  woman  who,  Lessing  says, 
"had-manly  views,  and  a  perfect  knowledge  of  her 
art."  Meanwhile,  he  had  fallen  in  with  Mylius, 
the  youth  who  got  put  in  prison  for  his  poem,  who 
became  a  strong  influence  in  directing  the  course 
of  Lessing's  life.  Mylius  was  now  one  of  the  little 
philosophical  coterie  gathered  about  Professor  Kaest 
ner  ;  he  was  a  man  of  great  talent,  very  unorthodox 
opinions,  and  irregular  life.  He  published  popu 
lar  journals  on  scientific  subjects,  for  which  Lessing 
occasionally  wrote  poetic  burlesques  of  scientific 
discussions.  This  man  led  Lessing  more  among 
the  stage-people,  and  Lessing,  of  course,  fell  in 
love,  very  platonically,  we  are  assured,  with  one  of 
the  young  actresses.  These  associations  led  him  to 


X  SKETCH    OF  LESSING. 

finish  "The  Young  Scholar,"  and  it  was  played 
with  great  success  by  Madame  Neuber's  company. 

It  is  not  much  to  the  discredit  of  the  poor  old 
Pastor  Primarius  that,  in  an  age  when  actors  were 
considered  too  vile  for  Christian  burial,  he  thought 
that,  in  such  company,  his  son  was  going  to  per 
dition.  He  pretended  that  Lessing's  mother  was 
dying,  and  sent  for  him  to  come  to  her.  A  heavy 
frost  set  in  after  the  mailing  of  the  letter,  and  Les- 
sing  started  without  waiting  for  winter  clothing. 
The  parents  were  softened  when  their  boy  stood 
before  them  shivering  with  the  severe  cold,  and  he 
was  made  welcome.  After  three  months,  he  went 
back  to  college.  His  parents  considering  that  .he 
had  dwelt  so  long  in  the  tents  of  the  ungodly  that 
it  would  be  a  desecration  of  the  priestly  office  for 
him  to  embrace  it,  tried  to  make  him  a  student  of 
medicine.  He  yielded  so  far  as  to  attend  several 
courses  of  medical  lectures. 

Madame  Neuber's  theatre  was  soon  broken  up, 
and  Lessing  had  gone  security  for  so  many  of  the 
debts  of  the  actors,  that,  as  no  help  could  be  looked 
for  from  home,  he  was  obliged  to  leave  Leip- 
zic.  Going  to  Berlin,  where  Mylius  was  already 
editing  a  paper,  he  concluded  to  abandon  study, 
and  to  try  to  relieve  himself  from  his  debts  with 
his  pen. 

Mylius  did  all  he  could  for  his  friend,  not  stop 
ping  short  at  real  sacrifices.  But  the  influence  of 


SKETCH   OF  LESS  ING.  XI 

"the  free-thinker"  was  greatly  dreaded  by  the  good 
people  at  Kamenz,  and  they  were  further  exercised 
by  frequent  rumors  of  their  son's  predilection  for 
the  stage.  Their  letters  were  full  of  urging  to  leave 
Berlin,  and  complaints  at  his  course  of  life  and 
irreligious  opinions.  A  few  sentences  from  his  re 
plies  will  throw  light  on  some  points  in  his  charac 
ter.  ' '  I  shall  not  return  home,  neither  shall  I  go 
to  any  university ;  because  my  stipends "  (allow 
ances  made  by  his  native  town  for  the  support  of  a 
few  of  its  young  men  at  a  university)  "are  not  suffi 
cient  to  pay  my  debts,  and  I  cannot  ask  the  neces 
sary  sum  of  you.  .  .  .  Wherever  I  may  be,  I 
shall  continue  to  write,  and  I  shall  never  forget  the 
benefits  I  have  so  long  received  at  your  hands. 
The  Christian  religion  is  not  a  thing  thai 
ought  to  be  received  on  trust  from  one's  parents.  The 
great  mass  of  mankind,  it  is  true,  inherit  it  as  they 
do  their  property  ;  but  their  conduct  shows  what 
Christians  they  are. "  The  ideas  in  this  latter  para 
graph  are  common-place  enough  now,  but  Lessing 
wrote  them  in  Germany  a  hundred  and  twenty  years 
ago,  when  he  was  twenty  years  old. 

With  the  exception  of  part  of  1752,  spent  in  Wit 
tenberg  in  studying  for  his  degree  of  Master  of 
Arts,  the  next  ten  years  were  mainly  passed  in 
Berlin. 

Lessing  began  work  in  Berlin  by  making  trans 
lations  from  the  modern  languages.  He  knew 


Xll  SKETCH   OF  LESSING. 

French,  Spanish,  Italian,  and  English.  Soon  he 
founded,  in  connection  with  Mylius,  a  periodical 
devoted  to  dramatic  subjects,  ancient  as  well  as 
modern.  He  withdrew  from  this  publication  be 
cause  Mylius  was  ignorant  enough  to  assert  in  it 
that  there  had  been  no  Italian  drama.  He  then 
began  writing  for  Voss's  Gazelle.  By  this  time  he 
began  to  attract  attention.  German  criticism  was 
divided  between  the  followers  of  Gottsched,  who  in 
sisted  on  exact  imitation  in  form  and  fact,  and  the 
Zurich  school,  who  set  no  bounds  to  the  imagina 
tion.  Lessing  struck  out  a  new  path,  by  declaring 
that  there  are  no  a  priori  principles  in  art,  that  the 
only  established  canons  are  those  that  can  be  in 
duced  from  works  of  art  already  existing,  and  that  a 
fresh  genius  gives  material  for  fresh  canons.  In 
other  words,  he  applied  to  art  the  'experience' 
principle  of  philosophy.  He  began  hitting  hard 
blows  at  the  pedantry  as  well  as  the  sentimentalism 
of  the  time,  and  directed  them  particularly  against 
the  French  influence  which  was  spreading  both. 
The  French  classic  drama  was  the  model  in  Ger 
many,  and  it  was  believed  that  classic  themes  were 
the  only  ones  for  tragedy.  Lessing's  English  culture 
showed  him  so  many  illustrations  of  the  falsity  of 
this  view,  that  he  hunted  out  the  principles  which 
prove  that  man  at  one  time  is  as  much  a  subject 
for  art  as  at  another — that  the  soul  of  man,  and  not 
his  surroundings,  is  the  seat  of  all  that  is  great  in 


SKETCH   OF  LESSING.  xiii 

dramatic  poetry.  In  illustration  of  his  realistic  prin 
ciples,  he  wrote,  in  1753-5,  "Miss  Sara  Sampson" 
— a  tragedy  in  prose,  the  scene  laid  in  England,  and 
the  time  contemporaneous.  The  play  was  a  suc 
cess,  and  emancipated  the  German  playwrights  from 
their  previous  limitations. 

Carrying  the  same  disregard  of  precedent  and  the 
same  adherence  to  broad  principles,  into  religion, 
he  began  quite  early  in  his  Berlin  career  to  strike 
out  such  thoughts  as  these:  "Well-doing  is  the 
main  thing:  belief  is  secondary.1'  .  .  .  "  It  is  not 
agreement  in  opinions,  but  agreement  in  virtuous 
actions,  that  renders  the  world  virtuous  and  happy." 
Of  a  romance  whose  scene  was  laid  in  Constanti 
nople,  he  said:  "If  a  pious  Moslem  should  read 
the  book,  he  would  constantly  be  constrained  to  cry 
out,  '  What  blasphemies  !'  and  yet  it  is  these  very 
blasphemies  which  will  edify  many  an  honest  Chris 
tian."  Nor  did  his  religious  views  stop  short  of 
self-application.  He  carried  about  in  his  poverty 
a  calm,  cheerful  philosophy,  which  prevented  his 
believing  that  "one  should  thank  God  only  for 
good  things,"  and  led  him  to  believe  that  in  man 
"it  does  not  concern  his  conscience  how  useful 
he  is,  but  how  useful  he  would  be."  Lessing  fur 
ther  carried  out  his  healthy  ideas  against  the  licen 
tiousness  creeping  into  literature  from  the  French 
influence.  The  central  point  of  his  theories  of  suc 
cess  in  art  was  the  character  of  the  artist,.  To  one 


XIV  SKETCH   OF  LESSING. 

trying  to  write  for  the  stage,  he  says,  "Study  ethics, 
.  .  .  cultivate  your  own  character. " 

His  mode  of  life  during  these  years  must  be 
judged  with  reference  to  the  current  views  of  the 
age.  He  was  temperately  fond  of  his  wine-cellar, 
as  the  most  sedate  Germans  are  to-day,  but  he 
gambled  a  great  deal  harder  than  present  ideas  ap 
prove.  He  continued  this  practice  for  many  years, 
and  said  that  "the  eager  attention  which  he  gave 
the  faro-table  set  his  clogged  machine  in  motion — 
brought  the  stagnant  juices  into  circulation."  There 
is  no  evidence  that  he  gambled  for  gain,  and  all  his 
views  and  generous  habits  forbid  such  a  supposi 
tion. 

He  had  not  been  in  Berlin  long  before  he  began 
to  make  valuable  friendships.  Among  the  best  and 
most  enduring  were  those  with  Nicolai  and  Moses 
Mendelssohn — the  father  of  Felix.  The  friendship 
with  Mendelssohn  was  life-long,  and  naturally  has 
given  rise  to  the  notion  that  in  Nathan  the  Wise, 
Lessing  intended  to  portray  his  Jewish  friend.  Not 
only  wyas  he  honored  in  these  great  friends,  but  was 
likewise  honored  in  a  still  greater  enemy — Voltaire. 
The  acrid  philosopher  was  then  engaged  in  his  dis 
graceful  lawsuit  with  Hirsch,  and  employed  Lessing 
to  translate  some  of  the  papers  into  German.  This 
drew  Lessing  into  Voltaire's  society  daily  for  some 
time.  Lessing  learned  how  to  appreciate  him ; 
but  he  was  not  the  man  to  appreciate  Lessing  : 


SKETCH   OF  LESSING.  XV 

and  when  Lessing  borrowed  from  his  secretary  the 
manuscript  of  the  newly  completed  Stick  de  Louis 
XIV.,  Voltaire  finding  it  out,  feared  some  trans 
lating  and  reprinting  plot.  He  wrote  two  insult 
ing  letters  to  Lessing,  and  received  the  replies  he 
merited.  This  little  affair  naturally  did  not  tend 
to  soften  the  criticism  which  Lessing  always  felt  it 
his  duty  to  give  Voltaire's  imaginative  writings,  but 
it  can  hardly  be  regretted  if  it  had  any  influence 
in  inspiring  what  sometimes  seems  the  best  bon  mot 
in  all  literature.  Nicolai  once  said  to  Lessing, 
"  You  must  admit  that  Voltaire  has  lately  said  many 
new  and  good  things."  "Certainly,"  answered 
Lessing,  "but  the  new  things  are  not  good,  and 
the  good  things  are  not  new." 

In  1760,  Lessing  was  driven  by  his  poverty  to  ac 
cept  a  position  as  assistant  of  General  Von  Tauen- 
zien,  the  director  of  Frederic's  Mint  at  Breslau.  Up 
to  this  time,  his  writings  had  consisted  almost  en 
tirely  of  special  criticisms  and  polemic  letters.  His 
only  other  works  had  been  his  Fabeln,  the  beautiful 
little  tragedy  of  Philotas,  and  two  dramas  on  the 
subject  of  Faust — one  of  which  is  lost,  and  the 
other  exists  but  in  fragments.  At  Breslau  he  re 
mained  five  years.  He  was  in  comparative  pros 
perity,  though  not  as  great  as  it  might  have  been 
had  he  not  used  his  knowledge  of  the  mint  opera 
tions  most  conscientiously.  His  peace  of  mind 
had  two  drawbacks  —  his  family,  who  made  the 


XVI  SKETCH   OF  LESSING. 

most  shameless  demands  on  his  finances,  which  he 
was  too  tender-hearted  to  treat  wisely;  and  his  Berlin 
friends,  who  bewailed  his  absence  from  them  as  a 
waste  of  time,  and  said  that  without  him  they  could 
not  continue  the  "Letters  on  Literature,"  which 
had  been  the  most  important  vehicles  of  German 
criticism.  His  life  seems  to  have  been  full  of  di 
version  and  full  of  work.  Goethe  says  that  Lessing 
''was  fond  of  casting  off  personal  dignity,  because  he 
was  confident  that  he  could  resume  it  at  any  time  ; 
and  delighted  at  that  period  to  lead  a  dissipated 
life  in  taverns  and  society,  since  he  needed  con 
stantly  a  strong  counterpoise  to  his  powerfully  labo 
rious  soul."  The  fact  that  his  soul  was  "powerfully 
laborious"  during  the  Breslau  period,  is  proven  by 
the  production  of  the  first  works  that  support  his 
enduring  fame — Minna  von  Barnhelm — a  military 
drama,  founded  on  his  army  associations,  among 
which  had  been  his  presence  at  the  siege  of  Schweid- 
nitz,  and  the  Laokoon — one  of  the  greatest  syste 
matic  treatises  on  art  criticism  in  existence. 

During  the  summer  of  1764,  when  he  was  thirty- 
five  years  old,  Lessing  broke  down  into  an  inflamma 
tory  fever.  It  was  his  first  hard  sickness.  When 
convalescing,  1  e  wrote  :  "  I  hope  that  this  will  soon 
pass  away,  and  then  I  shall  be  as  new-born.  All 
changes  of  our  temperament,  I  believe,  are  con 
nected  with  the  processes  of  our  animal  economy. 
The  crisis  of  my  life  approaches ;  I  begin  to  be  a 


SKETCH   OF  LESSING.  XVii 

man,  and  flatter  myself  that  in  this  burning  fever  I 
have  raved  away  the  last  trace  of  my  youthful  follies. 
.  .  You  wish  me  to  be  healthy ;  but  ought  poets 
to  wish  for  robust  health  ?  The  Horaces  dwell  in 
feeble  bodies,  the  healthy  Lessings  become  game 
sters  and  tipplers.  Yet  wish  me  healthy,  dear  friend  ; 
but,  if  possible,  healthy  with  a  slight  memento,  a 
thorn  in  the  flesh,  which  shall  make  the  poet  feel 
from  time  to  time  the  frailty  of  the  man. " 

The  next  year  Lessing  returned  to  Berlin,  bringing 
with  him  nothing  but  a  library,  which  he  aftenvard 
sold  at  a  great  sacrifice.  He  fought  poverty  with 
his  pen  for  a  couple  of  years,  was  disappointed  in 
an  effort  to  get  the  place  of  royal  librarian  from 
Frederic,  and  in  1767  accepted  the  position  of 
theatre  director  at  Hamburg.  This  led  to  his  writ 
ing  a  series  of  dramatic  essays,  preserved  under  the 
title  of  Dramaturgic.  Its  position  among  works  of 
dramatic  criticism  is  not  unworthy  of  comparison 
,ith  the  place  which  the  Laokoon  occupies  in  rela 
tion  to  art  in  general.  At  the  close  of  the  Drama 
turgic  he  expresses  the  following  interesting  estimate 
of  his  own  powers  :  "I  am  neither  actor  nor  poet. 
.  .  .  I  do  not  feel  in  myself  the  living  fountain 
which  lifts  itself  by  its  own  strength,  and  by  its  own 
strength  sports  and  spreads  in  radiations  so  rich,  so 
fresh,  so  pure  !  With  me  it  is  all  squeezing  and 
pumping  !  I  should  be  altogether  poor,  and  cold, 
and  short-sighted,  did  I  not  know  how  to  borrow 


XV111  SKETCH   OF  LESSING. 

occasionally,  with  discretion,  from  foreign  treasures, 
to  warm  myself  at  another  man's  fire,  and  to 
strengthen  my  sight  with  the  optic  glasses  of  art.  I 
have,  therefore,  always  been  ashamed  and  angry 
when  I  have  heard  or  read  anything  derogatory  to 
criticism.  Criticism,  it  is  said,  stifles  genius ; 
whereas  I  flatter  myself  that  I  have  received  from  it 
something  that  comes  very  near  to  genius."  Yet, 
Goethe  said,  "  Lessing  wished  to  disclaim  the  title 
of  poet,  but  his  immortal  works  testify  against  him 
self." 

The  author  of  the  Dramaturgic  found  it  impossible 
to  keep  peace  in  the  theatrical  camp  while  he  indulged 
in  special  criticism ;  and  after  he  had  expressed  his 
views  on  the  general  principles  of  dramatic  art,  there 
was  no  further  practicable  field  for  his  efforts.  A 
publishing  enterprise,  into  which  he  had  gone, 
failed,  and  left  him  in  debt.  His  works  were 
bringing  him  nothing  ;  in  no  small  degree  because 
they  could  be  reprinted  and  re-acted  in  every  petty 
province  of  Germany  without  the  author  receiving 
any  reward  ;  for  the  German  nations  were  no 
nearer  a  civilized  position  regarding  international 
copyright,  a  hundred  years  ago,  than  the  United 
States  of  America  are  to-day. 

Relief,  however,  seemed  at  hand.  Frederick 
William  Ferdinand,  Duke  of  Brunswick,  a  literary 
toady,  heard  that  such  an  ornamental  appendage 
to  his  court  as  Lessing  would  make,  could  be  had 


SKETCH   OF  LESSING,  xix 

cheap,  and  offered  him  the  positon  of  librarian  at 
Wolfenbtlttel,  at  a  very  modest  salary.  Lessingwas 
now  about  forty  years  old,  and  his  poverty  was  the 
more  irksome  because  he  wished  to  marry.  In 
Hamburg,  he  was  a  favored  friend  in  the  family  of 
a  certain  Konig,  and  there  is  reason  to  believe  that 
he  had  to  smother  a  feeling  toward  his  friend's  wife, 
which,  as  it  appeared  hopeless,  made  him  desirous 
of  leaving  the  city.  But  his  friend  Konig  died  in 
1769,  and  within  a  reasonable  time  Lessing  and  Eva 
Konig  were  engaged.  These  circumstances  made 
him  ready  to  accept  a  fixed  occupation,  even  to  the 
prejudice  of  his  literary  pursuits,  and  he  accepted 
the  duke's  offer. 

The  residence  at  Wolfenbuttel  occupied  six  years 
that  were  anything  but  happy.  The  place  was  un 
healthy,  he  had  no  congenial  society,  was  liable  to 
interruption  at  all  times,  had  to  do  an  immense 
amount  of  purely  routine  work,  and  was  constantly 
sick  at  heart  from  hope  deferred.  The  letters  pass 
ing  between  him  and  Eva  are  full  of  the  most  beau 
tiful  sincerity,  unselfishness,  and  common  sense 
regarding  all  matters  of  the  intellect  and  emotions  ;' 
but  they  are  not  the  letters  of  people  possessing  a 
healthy  capacity  for  cutting  the  gordian  knots  of 
circumstances. 

Konig's  affairs  were  left  in  such  a  complicated 
condition  that  it  was  hard  to  settle  his  estate  for  the 
best  advantage  of  his  wife  and  four  children,  and 


XX  SKETCH   OF  LESSING. 

Eva  felt  that  she  ought  not  to  marry  while  the 
finances  of  the  little  ones  were  in  such  an  uncertain 
condition.  Lessing,  on  his  part,  had  little  more  to 
depend  upon  than  the  illusive  promises  by  which 
the  Duke  kept  him  in  his  place. 

Six  years  wore  away  in  separation  and  anxious 
uncertainty.  As  may  be  imagined,  they  were  not 
very  productive  years  for  Lessing.  During  them  he 
gave  to  the  world  the  ' '  Wolfenbiittel  Fragments, " 
which  led  to  the  controversy  with  Gotze.  This  affair 
is  described  in  the  essay  at  the  end  of  this  volume. 
He  also  finished  Emilia  Galotli*  a  tragedy  that  he 
had  begun  fifteen  years  before,  while  he  was  warm 
with  enthusiasm  for  the  regeneration  of  dramatic  art. 
The  motive  of  this  tragedy  is  that  of  Virginius  ap 
plied  to  modern  circumstances.  In  dramatic  merit, 
it  is  Lessing's  best  production,  and  it  is  at  the  same 
time  a  consistent  embodiment  and  beautiful  illus 
tration  of  those  principles  of  dramatic  art,  of  which, 
considering  his  time  and  circumstances,  he  may  be 
called  a  creator. 

In  1775,  Lessing  went  into  Italy  with  the  crown- 
'  prince  of  Brunswick,  and  was  received  everywhere 
with  great  attention.  In  Vienna,  Emilia  Galolli  was 
played,  and  the  poet  was  received  with  an  ovation. 
Maria  Theresa  sent  for  him,  and  sought  his  opin 
ions  regarding  the  intellectual  development  of  the 

*  Now  while  we  write,  this  play,  in  the  original  German,  is  on  the 
programme  of  the  leading  theatre  in  New  York. 


SKETCH  OF  LESSING.  XXI 

empire.  At  Rome,  he  was  presented  to  the  Pope, 
and  treated  by  the  dignitaries  in  a  manner  which 
contrasted  honorably  with  his  treatment  by  eminent 
persons  at  home. 

In  1776,  he  returned  to  Wolfenbtittel,  and  he  and 
Eva  were  married.  She  was  worthy  of  him,  and  he 
seemed  entering  on  a  new  career  of  usefulness  and 
happiness.  In  a  year  a  son  was  born,  but  he  lived 
only  a  day,  and  his  mother  died  a  few  days  after. 
This  is  the  first  overwhelming  sorrow  we  know  of  in 
Lessing's  life.  To  our  mind,  nothing  in  all  the 
letters  he  wrote  at  the  time  reveals  its  intensity  so 
much  as  this:  "I  was  so  sorry  to  lose  him,  this 
son,  for  he  had  so  much  sense  !  so  much  sense  ! 
Do  not  think  that  my  few  hours  of  fatherhood  have 
already  made  me  such  an  ape  of  a  father !  I  know 
what  I  say  !  Did  it  not  show  his  sense  that  they 
were  obliged  to  draw  him  into  the  world  with  for 
ceps?  that  he  so  soon  became  disgusted  with  his 
new  abode  ?  Was  he  not  wise  in  seizing  the  first 
opportunity  to  make  off  again  ?"  We  hope 

that  not  many  of  our  readers  know  what  this  ten 
dency  to  turn  one's  own  sorrow  into  a  jest  means. 
Shakspeare  knew  it :  if  he  did  not,  he  could  not 
have  written  this  strange  passage  in  Hamlet : 

Gfwst  [be  neat fi].    Swear! 

Hamlet.    Ah,  ha, boy !  say'st  thou  so?    Art  thou  there,  truepenny  ? 
*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

Ghost  [beneath].    Swear! 
Hamlet.    Well  said,  old  mole  !    Canst  work  i'  th'  ground  so  fast  ? 


XX 11  SKETCH   OF  LESSIXG. 

The  death  of  Lessing's  wife  re-made  him.  There 
after,  the  dominant  passion  in  his  heart  was  not 
criticism,  but  sympathy.  But  he  was  dragged  into 
controversy,  and  he  had  not  lost  the  old  heroic 
nature  which  made  him,  early  in  life,  say  that  he 
never  was  at  his  best  unless  against  an  antagonist. 
Yet  his  fighting,  and  nearly  all  else  that  he  did, 
was  directly  intended  to  promote  the  spiritual  and 
moral  progress  of  mankind.  He  devoted  himself 
more  to  the  profound  questions  of  philosophy,  and 
seems  to  have  reached  that  plane  of  thought  and 
interests  which  lies  at  the  foundation  of  all  other 
human  effort.  But  little  more  than  three  years  were 
left  him.  They  were  full  of  loneliness,  though  not 
from  lack  of  friends,  and  of  privation  and  weariness. 
Here  are  a  few  passages  in  one  of  his  letters  to 
Eliza  Reimarus :  "I  must  pay  dearly  for  a  single 
year  that  I  lived  with  a  rational  woman.  I  must 
sacrifice  all,  all,  in  order  not  to  expose  myself  to  a 
suspicion  which  is  utterly  intolerable  to  me."  In 
this,  he  alluded  to  his  having  again  gone  into  debt 
for  the  sake  of  securing  his  wife's  property  to  her 
children.  "How  often,"  he  continues,  "do  I  feel 
tempted  to  curse  the  day  when  I  even  once  wished 
to  be  as  happy  as  other  people  !"  .  .  .  "Yet  I  am 
too  proud  to  acknowledge  myself  unhappy  —  only 
set  the  teeth,  and  let  the  boat  drift  at  the  mercy  of 
the  winds  and  waves.  Enough  that  I  will  not  upset 
it  myself."  But  to  the  outer  world,  he  was  very  calm 


SKETCH   OF  LESSINO.  XX111 

and  strong.  While  these  great  forces  were  tugging 
at  his  soul,  he  produced  "Nathan  the  Wise" — a 
poem  worthy  of  such  a  birth,  and  probably  impossi 
ble  without  it.  During  these  last  years,  he  also  wrote 
the  "Five  Conversations,  for  Freemasons,"  in  which 
he  expressed  his  ideas  of  government  and  society, 
and  "The  Education  of  the  Human  Race,"  in 
which  he  stated  his  views  of  religious  development. 
The  first  of  the  three  is  here  to  speak  for  itself.  The 
other  two  are  full  of  pregnant  ideas,  and,  indeed, 
the  very  title  of  the  latter  was  considered  a  happy  em 
bodiment  of  suggestive  thought  when  it  reappeared, 
a  few  years  since,  in  ' '  Essays  and  Reviews. " 

Lessing  died  while  on  a  visit  to  Brunswick,  on 
the  fifteenth  of  February,  1781.  The  newspapers 
in  Hamburg  were  forbidden  to  publish  anything  in 
his  praise,  and  the  clergy  endeavored  to  prevent  a 
public  ceremony  in  honor  of  his  memory.  Thus 
he  shared  the  fate  which,  so  far,  has  been  appointed 
for  the  great  Teachers.  While  it  cannot  be  claimed 
that  his  labors  are  to  be  classed  with  those  of  the 
few  men  who  are  universally  honored  as  finders  of 
fundamental  truths,  the  attainments  he  did  make, 
after  having  forced  his  path  through  the  errors  of 
a  strangely  artificial  and  distorted  age,  give  room  to 
believe  that  had  he  been  left  to  live  a  rounded  life, 
he  would  have  placed  himself  among  those  who  are 
remembered  not  only  always,  but  everywhere. 

H.   H. 


NATHAN    THE    WISE. 


DRAMATIS   PERSONS. 


SULTAN  SALADIN. 

SITTAH,  hie  Sister. 

NATHAN,  a  rich  Jew  of  Jerusalem. 

RECHA,  his  adopted  Daughter. 

DAJA,  a  Christian  woman,  living  in  the  Jew's 

house  as  Recha's  companion. 
A  Young  Templar. 
A  Dervise. 

The  Patriarch  of  Jerusalem. 
A  Lay-Brother. 
An  Emir. 
Mamelukes  in  Saladin's  service. 

The  scene  is  in  Jerusalem. 


ACT    FIRST. 


SCENE   I. 

A  Hall  in  Nathan  s  House. 
NATHAN  returning  from  a  journey.    DAJA  meeting  him. 

DAJA. 

'Tis  he  ;  'tis  Nathan  !     God  be  ever  praised 
That  you're  returned  to  us  again  at  last ! 

NATHAN. 

Ay,  Daja  ;  God  be  praised  !     But  why  "  at  last  ?" 
Was  it  my  purpose  to  have  come  before  ? 
Could  I  have  come  before  ?  for  Babylon 
Is  from  Jerusalem,  as  I  was  forced 
To  travel,  turning  oft  to  right  and  left, 
A  good  two  hundred  leagues.     Collecting  debts, 
Besides,  is  not  a  work  to  be  dispatched 
In  haste,  or  easily  turned  off. 

DAJA. 

Oh,  Nathan, 

What  misery,  what  misery  meanwhile 
Might  have  befallen  you  here  !     Your  house — 


4  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

NATHAN. 

Took  fire, 

That  have  I  heard  already.     God  but  grant 
I've  heard  the  whole  ! 

DAJA. 

And  might  have  easily 
Been  leveled  with  the  ground. 

NATHAN. 

Then  had  we  built 
Another  and  a  better. 

DAJA. 

True ;   but  Recha, 
Within  a  hairbreadth  was  she  burned  to  death. 

NATHAN. 
Burned!  —  who?  —  my  Recha?      That  I  had  not 

heard. 

Why,  then,  a  house  I  should  no  more  have  needed. 
Within  a  hairbreadth  burned  to  death  !    She  was — 
Was  burned  to  death  !    Speak  out — speak  out,  I  say ! 
Slay  me  and  torture  me  no  longer  !     Yes, 
She  has  been  burned  to  death  ! 

DAJA. 

And  if  she  were, 
Should  I  be  telling  it  ? 

NATHAN. 

Why  fright  me  then  ? 
O  Recha  !  O  mv  Recha  ! 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  5 

DAJA. 

Yours — your  Recha  ? 

NATHAN. 

God  grant  I  ne'er  may  have  to  unlearn  the  use 
Of  calling  her  my  child  ! . 

DAJA. 

And  call  you  all 
That  you  possess,  with  equal  right  your  own  ? 

NATHAN. 

Naught  with  a  greater.     All  I  else  possess 
Has  been  bestowed  by  Nature  and  by  Fortune. 
This  is  the  only  gift  I  owe  to  Virtue. 

DAJA. 

O  Nathan,  what  a  price  you  make  me  pay 
For  all  your  kindness  !  if  aught  exercised 
From  such  a  motive  can  be  called  a  kindness. 

NATHAN. 

From  such  a  motive  ?     What  F 
DAJA. 

My  conscience — 

NATHAN. 

Daja, 
Let  me  but  tell  you  first — 

DAJA. 

I  say  my  conscience — 
i* 


6  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

NATHAN. 

What  stuffs  in  Babylon  I  bought  for  you  ! 
So  precious  and  so  tasteful.  Recha's  own 
Are  scarcely  fairer. 

DAJA. 

All  in  vain.     My  conscience, 
I  tell  you,  will  no  more  be  lulled  to  sleep. 

NATHAN. 

And  how  you  will  delight  in  all  the  jewels, 
The  rings,  the  clasps,  the  ear-rings,  and  the  chains, 
That  in  .Damascus  I  selected  for  you, 
I'm  eager  to  behold. 

DAJA. 

How  like  yourself ! 
You  must  be  always  giving,  always  giving. 

NATHAN. 
Take  gladly,  as  I  give  you,  and — be  silent ! 

DAJA. 

Be  silent !     Doubts  there  any  one  that  Nathan 
Is  honor,  generosity  itself? 
And  yet — 

NATHAN. 

I'm  but  a  Jew.     Is  that  your  meaning  ? 

DAJA. 
You  know  my  meaning  better. 


NATHAN    THE    WISE.  J 

NATHAN. 

Then  be  silent. 
DAJA. 

I  will  be  silent.     What  of  guilt  grow  hence 
In  sight  of  God,  which  I  cannot  prevent, 
I  cannot  change — cannot, — fall  on  your  head. 

NATHAN. 

Fall  on  my  head  !     But  tell  me  where  she  is. 
Where  tarries  she  ?     Ah,  should  you  have  deceived 

me ! 
Knows  she  I'm  here  ? 

DAJA. 

I  might  retort  the  question. 
Her  every  nerve  still  trembles  with  affright. 
Her  fancy  colors  with  a  glow  of  fire 
Whate'er  it  paints.     In  sleep  her  spirit  wakes ; 
Awake,  it  sleeps  :  inferior  now  to  brutes, 
Superior  now  to  angels. 

NATHAN. 

Ah,  poor  child  ! 
What  are  we  men  ! 

DAJA. 

This  morning  long  she  lay, 

With  eyelids  closed,  as  she  were  dead.  Then  quick 
Sprang  up,  cried,  "Hark,  my  father's  camels  come! 
Hark,  his  own  gentle  voice  !"  Then  drooped  again 
Her  eyelids,  and,  the  arm's  support  withdrawn, 


8  NATHAN    THE    WISE. 

Her  head  once  more  fell  back  upon  the  pillows. 
I  hasted  through  the  gate,  and,  lo  !  'twas  you — 
'Twas  you,  indeed,  approaching  !     And  what  won 
der? 

For  her  whole  soul  has  since  been  but  with  you — 
And  him. 

NATHAN. 

And  him  !     What  him  ? 

DAJA. 

Who  from  the  fire 
Preserved  her. 

NATHAN. 

Who  was  that  ?     Where  is  he  now  ? 
Who  was  it  that  preserved  my  Recha  for  me  ? 

DAJA. 

A  Templar,  who,  some  days  before  a  prisoner, 
Was  hither  brought,  and  pardoned  by  the  Sultan. 

NATHAN. 

A  Templar  granted  life  by  Saladin  ? 
Could  no  less  miracle  than  this  have  saved 
My  Recha  ?     God  ! 

DAJA. 

And  but  for  him  who  risked 
Again  his  unexpected  boon,  she  had 
Been  lost. 

NATHAN. 
Where  is  this  noble  man  ?     Where  is  he  ? 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  g 

Conduct  me  to  his  feet.  Whatever  treasure 
Was  left  you,  you  bestowed  on  him  at  once ; 
Gave  all ;  with  promises  of  more — much  more? 

DAJA. 
How  could  we? 

NATHAN. 
Did  you  not  ? 
DAJA. 

He  came,  but  whence 

None  knew  ;  he  went,  and  whither  none  could  tell. 
A  stranger  to  the  house,  his  ear  alone 
To   guide  him,  onward  through  the   smoke   and 

flame, 

With  outstretched  mantle,  fearlessly  he  pressed 
Toward  the  voice  that  cried  to  us  for  help. 
Already  had  we  given  him  up  for  lost, 
When  suddenly,  out  from  the  smoke  and  flame, 
He  stood  before  us,  bearing  her  aloft 
In  his  strong  arms.     By  our  exultant  thanks 
Unmoved,  he  laid  his  burden  on  the  ground, 
Pressed  through  the  multitude  his  way,  and  vanished. 

NATHAN. 
But  not,  I  hope,  forever. 

DAJA. 

Many  days 

We  saw  him  yonder,  walking  to  and  fro 
Beneath  the  palms  that  shade  the  sepulchre 


IO  XATJIAN   THE    WISE. 

Of  our  ascended  Lord.     I  went  to  him 

With  rapture;  thanked  him,  praised,  commanded, 

begged 

He  would  but  once  behold  the  grateful  girl, 
Who  could  not  rest  till  at  her  savior's  feet 
She'd  wept  her  thanks. 

NATHAN. 
Well  ? 

DAJA. 

Useless  ;  he  was  deaf 
To  our  entreaties,  and  he  poured,  besides, 
Such  scorn  upon  me — 

NATHAN. 

You  were  frightened  off. 
DAJA. 

Nay ;  anything  but  that.     Day  after  day 
I  went  to  him  again  ;  day  after  day 
Let  him  again  insult  me.     There  is  nothing 
I've  not  endured  from  him  ;  nothing  that  gladly 
I'd  not  have  still  endured.     But  long  he's  ceased 
To  walk  beneath  the  palms  that  shade  the  grave 
Of  our  ascended  Lord,  and  no  one  knows 
His  dwelling-place. — You  are  amazed  ;   you  pon 
der? 

NATHAN. 

I  ponder  the  effect  this  must  produce 
Upon  a  mird  like  Recha's.     To  be  scorned 


NATHAN  THE    WISE.  II 

By  one  whom  she  is  bound  to  prize  so  highly  : 

To  be  at  once  repelled  and  yet  attracted. 

'Twixt  head  and  heart  long  contest  must  ensue, 

If  sorrow  or  misanthropy  shall  conquer. 

Oft  neither  triumphs,  and  imagination 

Becoming  party  in  the  strife,  creates 

A  dreamer,  in  whom  now  the  head  usurps 

The  place  of  heart,  and  now  the  heart  plays  head. 

Sad  interchange  !     If  I  mistake  not  Recha, 

The  latter  is  her  fate.     She  yields  to  fancies. 

DAJA. 
But  then  so  pure,  so  lovely ! 

NATHAN. 

Fancies  still. 

DAJA. 

Above  the  rest,  one — fancy,  if  you  will — 
She  cherishes.     Her  Templar,  as  she  deems, 
Is  not  a  mortal  being,  not  of  earth. 
One  of  the  angels,  to  whose  guardian  care, 
Her  little  heart  from  childhood  fondly  thought 
Itself  intrusted,  stepped  out  from  the  cloud 
Beneath  whose  veil  he  hitherto  had  hovered 
About  her  even  in  the  fire,  and  stood 
Revealed  as  Templar. — Do  not  smile  !    Who  knows  ? 
At  least,  if  smile  you  must,  do  not  destroy 
A  fancy  shared  alike  by  Christian,  Jew, 
And  Mussulman, — so  beautiful  a  fancy. 
• 


12  NATHAN 

NATHAN. 

And  beautiful  to  me. — Go,  trusty  Daja, 
See  how  she  is — if  I  may  speak  with  her. 
Then  I  will  seek  this  freakish  guardian  angel  ; 
And  if  it  be  his  pleasure  still  to  dwell 
Among  us  on  the  earth,  and  wear  the  guise 
Of  so  unmannerly  a  knight,  doubt  not 
I  shall  discover  and  conduct  him  hither. 

DAJA. 
You  promise  much. 

NATHAN. 

Should  then  this  sweet  conceit 
Be  changed  to  sweeter  truth — for,  trust  me,  Daja, 
To  human  heart  more  dear  is  man  than  angel — 
You'll  surely  not  with  me — with  me— be  vexed 
If  so  this  angel-dreamer  shall  be  cured. 

DAJA. 

How  good  you  are,  and  yet  how  bad  withal ! 
I  go.     But  hark  !  but  see  !     She  comes  herself. 


SCENE    II. 
RECHA  and  the  preceding, 

RECHA. 

Is  it  in  very  truth  yourself,  my  father  ? 
I  thought  you  had  but  sent  your  voice  before. 


NATHAN    THE    WISE.  13 

Where  tarry  you  ?     What  deserts  or  what  moun 
tains, 

What  rivers,  separate  us  now  ?     One  roof 
Is  o'er  us  both,  and  yet  you  hasten  not 
To  clasp  your  Recha,  who  was  burned  meanwhile  ! 
Poor  Recha  !     Almost,  only  almost  burned. 
Nay,  shudder  not !     Oh,  'tis  an  ugly  death 
To  die  by  fire  ! 

NATHAN. 
My  child  !  my  darling  child  ! 

RECHA. 

You  had  to  cross  the  Euphrates,  Tigris,  Jordan, — 
Who  knows  how  many  more?     Oft  for  your  life 
I  trembled  till  the  fire  enveloped  me  ; 
But  since  the  fire  enveloped  me,  to  die 
By  water  seems  refreshment,  solace,  balm. 
But  you  have  not  been  drowned,  nor  I  been  burned. 
We  will  rejoice,  and  give  God  thanks.     He  bore 
Your  boat  and  you  upon  the  unseen  wings 
Of  angels  over  all  the  faithless  streams  : 
He  bade  my  angel  visibly  unfold 
His  snowy  wings,  and  bear  me  through  the  fire. 

NATHAN. 

(His  snowy  wings  !    Ah,  yes ;  the  Templar's  mantle, 
Outstretched  and  white.) 

RECHA. 

Ay ;  visibly  to  bear  me 


14  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

From  out  the  flames,  fanned  backward  by  his  wings. 
Thus  have  I  seen  an  angel  face  to  face — 
My  guardian-angel. 

NATHAN. 

Recha  would  be  worth 
An  angel's  visiting,  and  would  in  him 
See  naught  more  fair  than  he  in  her. 

RECHA  (smiling). 

My  father, 
Whom  flatter  you — the  angel  or  yourself? 

NATHAN. 

Had  but  a  human  being,  such  a  man 
As  Nature  daily  grants,  this  service  rendered, 
He  must  for  you  have  been  an  angel ;  ay, 
He  must  and  would. 

RECHA. 

Not  such  an  angel.     No  ; 
This  was  in  truth,  in  very  truth  an  angel. 
Have  you  yourself  not  taught  me  to  believe 
That  angels  are  ;  that  God  for  them  that  love  Him 
Can  yet  work  miracles  ?     I  love  Him. 

NATHAN. 

Yes; 

And  He  loves  you  ;  and  hourly  miracles 
For  you,  and  such  as  you,  is  working  now  ; 
From  all  eternity  has  worked  them  for  you. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  15 

RECHA. 
I  love  to  hear  it. 

NATHAN. 

Natural  it  sounds 

And  commonplace  to  have  a  Templar  save  you  ; 
But  is  it  therefore  less  a  miracle  ? 
The  greatest  miracle  of  all  is  this  : 
That  true  and  genuine  miracles  become 
Of  no  significance.     Without  that  wonder 
Scarce  would  a  thoughtful  man  bestow  the  name 
On  things  that  only  children  should  admire, 
Who,  gaping,  follow  what  is  new  and  strange. 

DAJA  (to  Nathan). 

Would  you  to  bursting  strain  her  o'erwrought  brain 
With  all  your  subtleties  ? 

NATHAN. 

Trust  her  to  me  ! 

WTere  it  not  miracle  enough  for  Recha 
To  be  delivered  by  a  human  being, 
Himself  by  no  small  miracle  first  saved  ? 
Not  small  indeed  !     Who  ever  heard  before 
Of  Templar  being  spared  by  Saladin — 
Of  Templar  asking  to  be  spared,  or  hoping — 
Or  offering  more  for  freedom  than  the  girth 
That  drags  his  iron,  or,  at  most,  his  dagger  ? 

RECHA. 

That  proves  for  me,  my  father.     For  that  reason 
He  was  no  actual  Templar — only  seemed  it. 


1 6  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

Since  never  to  Jerusalem  there  came 
A  captive  Templar  save  to  certain  death  ; 
Since  none  e'er  walked  Jerusalem  so  free, 
How  could  one  voluntarily,  at  night, 
Have  come  to  save  me  ? 

NATHAN. 

Most  ingenious,  Recha  ! — 
Speak,  Daja  :  'twas  from  you  I  learned  he  came 
A  prisoner  hither ;  you  must  know  yet  more. 

DAJA. 

So  runs  the  story.     It  is  said,  besides, 
That  Saladin  preserved  the  Templar's  life 
Because  of  the  resemblance  that  he  bore 
A  favorite  brother.      But  as  twenty  years 
Have  passed  away  since  this  dear  brother's  death- 
His  name  I  know  not — know  not  where  he  died- 
It  sounds  so,  so  incredible  the  whole — 
May  be  but  fiction. 

NATHAN. 

Wherefore,  Daja,  sounds  it 
Incredible,  but  that  you  would  believe — 
As  is  the  case — things  more  incredible  ? 
Why  should  not  Saladin,  whose  family 
Are  all  so  dear  to  him,  in  younger  days 
Have  loved  one  brother  with  peculiar  love  ? 
Look  not  two  countenances  oft  alike  ? 
Are  old  impressions,  therefore,  vanished  ones  ? 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  17 

Works  the  same  cause  no  longer  one  effect  ? 
Since  when  ?     Where  lies  in  this  the  incredible  ? 
Ah,  my  wise  Daja,  further  miracles 
There  can  be  none  for  you.     Your  miracles 
Alone  demand — deserve,  I  mean — belief. 

DAJA. 
You  laugh  at  me. 

NATHAN. 

Laughed  you  not  too  at  me  ? — 
Thus  was  your  rescue  still  a  miracle, 
Dear  Recha,  possible  alone  to  Him 
Who  oft  is  pleased  to  guide,  by  feeble  threads, 
The  set  decrees  and  purpose  absolute 
Of  kings — his  toys,  if  not  his  scorn. 

RECHA. 

My  father, 
If  I  am  wrong,  not  willingly  I  err. 

NATHAN. 

Willingly  rather  learn.     See  now  a  forehead 
Aiched  thus,  or  so  ;  the  outline  of  a  nose 
Drawn  this  way  more  than  that ;  brows  curving  so, 
Or  so,  according  as  the  bone  is  sharp 
Or  round  ;  a  line,  crease,  angle,  spot,  a  nothing 
Upon  the  face  of  one  wild  European — 
And  you  are  rescued  from  the  fire  in  Asia  ! 
Is  that  no  miracle,  ye  wonder-seekers  ? 
What  need  to  trouble  an  angel  with  it  then  ? 
2* 


1 8  NATHAN  THK  WISE. 

DAJA. 

What  harm — if  I  may  speak — in  the  belief 
An  angel  rather  than  a  man  has  saved  us  ? 
Feel  we  not  so  much  nearer  brought  to  Him 
Of  the  deliverance  the  mysterious  cause  ? 

NATHAN. 

Pride,  Daja,  naught  but  pride  !     The  iron  pot 
Would  have  itself  be  lifted  from  the  fire 
By  silver  tongs,  that  so  it  may  be  deemed 
A  silver  pot.     Pah  !     What  the  harm,  you  ask  ? 
What  harm  ?      What  good,  I   might  retort.      Tis 

nonsense, 

Or  blasphemy,  this  "feeling  nearer  God." 
But  harm  it  does — ay,  actual  harm  ;  for  listen  : 
To  your  deliverer,  be  he  man  or  angel, 
Would  you  not  both,  and  you  especially, 
Desire  to  render  great  and  various  service  ? 
But  how  perform  such  service  to  an  angel  ? 
Thank  him  you  can,  and  sigh  to  him  and  pray ; 
Can  melt  away  in  ecstasies  before  him  ; 
Can  keep  a  fast  upon  his  sacred  day  ; 
Can  give  your  charities  ; — all  that  is  naught. 
Your  neighbor  and  yourself  are  more  the  gainers, 
It  seems  to  me,  than  he.     He  grows  not  fat 
By  all  your  fasting ;  all  your  charities 
Make  him  not  rich  ;  no  greater  is  his  glory 
For  all  your  ecstasies  ;  his  power  no  greater 
For  all  your  faith.     But,  think  him  human  now — 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  19 

D.VJA. 

Ay,  more,  indeed,  could  we  have  done  for  him 
Had  he  been  human.      What  our  readiness, 
God  knows.     But  he  was  so  above  all  wants, 
Was  in  and  for  himself  so  all-sufficient, 
As  only  angels  are  and  angels  can  be. 

RECHA. 
And  when  at  last  he  vanished— 

NATHAN. 

Vanished !     How  ? 
No  longer  showed  himself  beneath  the  palms  ? 
Or  have  you  really  further  searched  for  him  ? 

DAJA. 
That  we  have  not. 

NATHAN. 

Not,  Daja  ?     See  what  harm  ! 
You  cruel  enthusiasts  !     What  if  this  angel 
Had  been — been  sick  ? 

RECHA. 

Sick! 

DAJA. 

Sick  !     He  cannot  be  ! 

RECHA. 

A  shudder  chills  me.     Daja,  feel — my  brow, 
So  warm  but  now,  is  turned  to  ice  ! 


2O  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

NATHAN. 

A  Frank 

He  is,  a  stranger  to  our  climate  ;  young 
To  all  the  hard  requirements  of  his  Order — 
To  hunger,  watching,  unaccustomed. 

RECHA. 

Sick! 
DAJA. 

He  only  means,  that  it  were  possible. 

NATHAN. 

See,  there  he  lies,  without  a  friend,  or  gold 
To  purchase  friends — 

RECHA. 
Alas  !  my  father  ! 

NATHAN. 

Lies 

Without  attendance,  counsel,  sympathy — 
A  prey  to  sorrows,  and  perhaps  to  death. 

RECHA. 
Where  ?     Where  ? 

NATHAN. 

He  who  for  one  he  never  knew 
Nor  saw — enough  it  was  a  human  being — 
Had  leaped  into  the  flames — 

DAJA. 

Oh,  spare  her,  Nathan  ! 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  21 

NATHAN. 

Who  would  not  know  more  nearly,  would  not  see 
What  he  had  saved,  that  he  might  not  be  thanked — 

DAJA. 
Oh,  Nathan,  spare  her — spare  her  ! 

NATHAN. 

Had  no  wish 

To  see  again,  unless  a  second  time 
He  might  deliver ;  for  enough  for  him 
„  It  was  a  human  being — 

DAJA. 
Hush  !     Ah,  see  ! 

NATHAN. 

He,  dying,  has  no  other  solace,  none, 
Besides  the  memory  of  his  deed. 

DAJA. 

Hush  !  hush  ! 
You're  killing  her. 

NATHAN. 

And  so  did  you  kill  him  ; 

Or  so  you  might  have  killed  him.     Recha  !   Recha  ! 
'Tis  medicine,  not  poison,  that  I  give  you  ! 
He  lives  !     Come,  be  yourself !     He  is  not  sick — 
Not  even  sick  ! 

RECHA. 
Quite  sure  ?     Not  dead  ?     Not  sick  ? 


22  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

NATHAN. 

Not  surely  dead  ;  for  God  rewards  even  here 

The  good  that  here  is  done.     But  have  you  learned 

That  pious  ecstasies  are  easier  far 

Than  virtuous  deeds ;  how  gladly  idleness, 

Concealing  its  true  motive  from  itself, 

Would  stand  excused  from  virtuous  deeds,  and  plead 

Its  pious  ecstasies  instead  ? 

RECHA. 

My  father, 

Leave,  leave  your  Recha  nevermore  alone  ! — 
He  has  but  left  Jerusalem  perhaps  ? 

NATHAN. 

Assuredly. — Yonder  a  Mussulman, 
With  curious  eye,  observes  my  loaded  camels. 
Look  !     Know  you  him  ? 

DAJA. 
It  is  your  dervise. 

NATHAN. 

Who  ? 
DAJA. 
Your  dervise  ;  your  antagonist  at  chess. 

NATHAN. 
Al-Hafi  !     That  Al-Hafi  ! 

DAJA. 

Treasurer  now 
Of  Saladin. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE. 


NATHAN. 

Dream  you  again  ?  Al-Hafi  !  — 
'Tis  he  —  'tis  he  indeed  !  He  comes  toward  us. 
Quick,  back  into  the  house  !  —  What  will  he  tell  me  ? 


SCENE   III. 
NATHAN  and  the  DERVISE. 

DERVISE. 
NOW  let  your  eyes  be  opened  to  their  widest ! 

NATHAN. 

Is  it  yourself  or  not  ?     In  this  attire- — 
A  dervise  ? 

DERVISE. 

Well,  why  not?     Can  dervises 
Be  turned  to  no  account  whatever  then  ? 

NATHAN. 

To  plenty.     But  I  had  supposed  a  dervise, 
A  genuine  dervise,  would  be  turned  to  none. 

DERVISE. 

By  the  Prophet !     May  be  I'm  no  genuine  one. 
Yet,  if  one  must — 

NATHAN. 

Must — dervise?  Dervise  must? 
Nay,  no  man  must ;  why  must  a  dervise  then  ? 
What  must  he,  pray  ? 


24  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

DERVISE. 

What  is  desired  of  him 
In  faith  and  honor,  and  he  knows  is  right — 
That  must  a  dervise. 

NATHAN. 

There  you  speak  the  truth. 
Let  me  embrace  you,  man,  and  call  you  friend  ! 

DERVISE. 
Before  you  learn  to  what  I've  been  promoted  ? 

NATHAN. 
In  spite  of  your  promotion. 

DERVISE. 

I'm  become 

A  fellow  in  the  State,  perhaps,  whose  friendship 
Were  inconvenient. 

NATHAN. 

I  will  take  the  risk, 

If  but  your  heart  continue  dervise  still. 
The  fellow  in  the  State  is  but  your  gown. 

DERVISE. 

But  that  craves  honor  too.  What  think  you?   Guess! 
What  am  I  at  your  court  ? 

NATHAN. 

Dervise — no  more  ; 
Unless  you  may  besides  be — cook. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  25 

DERVISE. 

Goto! 

I  should  unlearn  my  trade  with  you.     A  cook  ! 
Not  butler  too  ? — Confess  that  Saladin 
Could  better  read  me.     I'm  his  treasurer  ! 

NATHAN. 
You — his? 

DERVISE. 

But  of  the  smaller  treasure,  mind — 
That  for  his  house.     His  father  holds  the  greater. 

NATHAN. 
His  house  is  great. 

DERVISE. 

Ay,  greater  than  you  think  ; 
For  every  beggar  forms  a  part  of  it. 

NATHAN. 
Yet  Saladin  is  so  opposed  to  beggars — 

DERVISE. 

He  would  exterminate  them  root  and  branch, 
Though  he  himself  thereby  be  made  a  beggar — 

NATHAN. 
I  thought  so. 

DERVISE. 

Is  one  now  in  fact.     Each  day 
His  treasury  contains,  at  sunset,  less 
Than  nothing.     Let  the  tide  be  e'er  so  high 
At  morning,  long  ere  noon  'tis  all  run  out. 
3 


26  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

NATHAN. 

Because  canals,  alike  impossible 
To  fill  or  stay,  are  feeding  from  it. 

DERVISE. 

Right ! 
NATHAN. 
I  know  it  all. 

DERVISE. 

When  princes  are  the  vultures 
Amidst  the  carrion,  that  is  bad  enough  ; 
But  when  they  are  the  carrion  'midst  the  vultures, 
Tis  ten  times  worse. 

NATHAN. 

Oh,  never,  never  that ! 

DERVISE. 

Ah,  you  may  talk  ! — But  come,  what  will  you  give 
If  I  resign  my  office  to  you  ?     Eh  ? 

NATHAN. 
What  yields  your  office  ? 

DERVISE. 

Me  indeed  not  much  ; 
But  for  yourself  'twould  yield  abundantly. 
For  when  the  tide  is  low,  as  low  it  will  be, 
Lift  up  your  own  flood-gates,  let  in  your  money, 
And  take  in  interest  whatsoe'er  you  will. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  27 

NATHAN. 

Perhaps  charge  interest  on  the  interest 
Of  interest  ? 

DERVISE. 
Yes. 

NATHAN. 
Till  my  capital 
Becomes  all  interest. 

DERVISE. 

That  tempts  you  not  ? 

Then  write  at  once  the  quittance  of  our  friendship  ; 
For  I  had  counted  much  on  you. 

NATHAN. 

How  so  ? 

DERVISE. 

That  you  would  help  me  hold  my  post  with  honor  ; 
Your  purse  be  open  always  to  my  need. 
You  shake  your  head  ? 

NATHAN. 

Let's  understand  each  other. 
There's  a  distinction  here.     To  you — why  not  ? 
Al-Hafi,  dervise,  shall  to  all  I  have 
Be  ever  warmly  welcome.     But  Al-Hafi, 
The  treasurer  of  the  Sultan — he — to  him — 

DERVISE. 
Did  I  not  guess  it  ? — How  your  goodness  ever 


28  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

Keeps'  pace  with  prudence,  prudence  with  your  wis 
dom  ; 

But  patience,  and  this  difference  in  Al-Hafi, 
Shall  trouble  you  no  more. — Behold  this  robe 
Of  honor  that  the  Sultan  decked  me  with. 
Ere  it  be  faded  and  in  rags,  fit  clothing 
For  dervise'  wear,  within  Jerusalem 
It  shall  be  hanging,  while  beside  the  Ganges, 
Barefoot  and  light,  I  walk  the  burning  sands 
Among  my  teachers. 

NATHAN. 
Like  yourself  - 

DERVISE. 

And  play 
At  chess  with  them. 

NATHAN. 
Your  highest  good. 

DERVISE. 

Consider 

What  tempted  me  ; — that  I  might  beg  no  longer  ? 
Might  play  the  part  of  rich  man  amongst  beggars  ? 
Might  have  the  power  of  making  in  a  twinkling 
A  poor  rich  man  out  of  the  richest  beggar  ? 

NATHAN. 
Not  surely  that. 

DERVISE, 
Far  more  absurd  than  that. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  29 

The  first  time  in  ray  life  I  had  been  flattered, 
By  Saladin's  kind-hearted  fancy  flattered. 

NATHAN. 
What  fancy  ? 

DERVISE. 

That  a  beggar  only  knew 
The  feelings  of  a  beggar  ;  that  a  beggar 
Alone  had  learned  kind  dealings  with  a  beggar. 
"Your  predecessor,"  he  said,  "was  cold  and  harsh. 
He  gave  unkindly,  if  he  gave  at  all  ; 
Must  always  first  ungraciously  inquire 
About  the  asker — not  content  to  know 
He  was  in  want ;  he  must  discover,  too, 
The  reason  of  the  want,  and  make  his  gifts, 
His  stingy  gifts,  proportionate  to  that. 
Not  so  Al-Hafi.     So  unkindly  kind 
He  will  not  suffer  Saladin  to  seem. 
Al-Hafi  is  not  like  those  foul,  clogged  pipes, 
That  give  back  troubled  and  impure  the  water 
That  was  so  clear  and  still  when  they  received  it. 
Al-Hafi  thinks,  Al-Hafi  feels  with  me." 
Thus  sweetly  sang  the  fowler's  voice,  and  lured 
The  silly  bird  within  the  net.     O  fool ! 
The  fool  too  of  a  fool  ! 

NATHAN. 

But  gently,  gently, 
My  dervise  ! 


30  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

DERVISE. 
What !     Is  it  not  a  foolery 

To  oppress  one's  brother-men  by  hundreds,  thou 
sands — 

To   waste  their  strength,  to   plunder,  torture,  kill 
them — 

Yet  wish  to  appear  the  savior  of  a  few  ? 

Is  it  not  foolery  to  try  to  ape 

The  mercy  of  the  Highest — who,  impartial, 

On  evil  and  on  good,  on  field  and  waste, 

Spreadeth  Himself  abroad  in  sun  and  rain — 

Yet  not  to  have  the  overflowing  hand 

Of  the  Almighty  ?     Is't  not  foolery — 

NATHAN. 
Enough  !     Have  done  ! 

DERVISE. 

Not  till  I  have  confessed 
My  equal  foolery.     Say,  was  it  none 
In  me  that  I  was  always  tracing  out 
The  kindly  side  of  fooleries  like  these, 
As  my  apology  for  sharing  in  them  ? 
Call  you  that  none  ? 

NATHAN. 

Al-Hafi,  make  all  haste 
To  get  into  your  wilderness  again. 
I  fear  lest,  living  among  men,  you'll  cease 
To  be  a  man  yourself. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  31 

DERVISE. 

I  fear  it  too. 
Farewell ! 

NATHAN. 

So  hasty  ?     Hold,  Al-Hafi,  hold  ! 
Fear  you  the  desert  will  escape  ?     Stay — stay  ! 
Will  he  not  hear  me  ?     Ho,  Al-Hafi — here  ! 
No,  he  is  gone  ;  and  I  had  asked  so  gladly 
About  our  Templar  :  he  must  know  the  knight. 


SCENE    IV. 
DAJA  entering  hastily.     NATHAN. 

DAJA. 
O  Nathan,  Nathan  ! 

NATHAN. 
Well,  what  is  it,  Daja  ? 

DAJA. 
He  has  appeared  again — appeared  again  ! 

NATHAN. 
Who,  Daja  ? 

DAJA. 
He! 

NATHAN. 

He  ?     When  appeared  he  not  ? 
Aha  !  'tis  onlyjyour  he  that  is  he. 
That  is  not  well  \  not  though  he  were  an  angel. 


32 


NATHAN    THE    WISE. 


DAJA. 

Beneath  the  palms  he's  walking  to  and  fro, 
And  breaking  ever  and  anon  the  dates. 

NATHAN. 
And  eating  ?     As  a  Templar  ? 

DAJA. 

Tease  me  not ! 

Beneath  the  palm-trees'  thickly  woven  shade 
Her  greedy  eye  discovered  him,  and  follows 
Unwaveringly  ;  and  she  entreats,  conjures  you, 
Without  delay,  to  go  to  him.     Oh,  haste  ! 
She's  at  her  window,  and  will  sign  to  you 
Which  way  to  seek  him.     Haste  ! 

NATHAN. 

Just  from  my  camels  ? 

Would  that  be  courteous  ?     Haste  to  him  yourself, 
And  tell  him  my  return.     It  was  his  honor 
Alone  forbade  his  entering  my  house 
While  I  was  absent.     He'll  be  glad  to  come 
When  'tis  the  father  that  invites  him.     Go, 
Say  I  invite  him,  cordially  invite — 

DAJA. 

In  vain  ;  he  will  not  come  to  you.     In  short, 
He  comes  not  to  a  Jew. 

NATHAN. 

Yet  go  ;  at  least 

Detain  him,  or,  best,  keep  your  eye  upon  him. 
Go  first ;  I  follow  instantly.     Go — go  ! 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  33 


SCENE    V. 

A  square  planted  with  palm-trees,  under  which  the 
TEMPLAR  is  walking  to  and  fro.  A'  LAY-BROTHER 
follffws  him  at  a  little  distance,  as  if  he  would  speak 
with  him. 

TEMPLAR. 

'Tis  not  from  idleness  he  follows  me. 
See   how   he   glances  towards   my   hands.  —  Good 

brother — 
may  I  call  you  father  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Brother  only. 
A  poor  lay-brother  only,  at  your  service. 

TEMPLAR. 

Good  brother,  had  I  aught  myself — By  heaven, 
By  heaven,  I've  nothing — 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Still,  take  hearty  thanks. 
May  God  return  to  you  a  thousand-fold 
What  you  would  give  me.     For  the  will  it  is 
That  makes  the  giver — not  the  gift.     Besides, 
I  was  not  sent  to  beg  the  knight  for  alms. 

TEMPLAR. 
Then  you  were  sent  ? 


34  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

LAY-BROTHER. 
Yes  ;  from  the  monastery. 

TEMPLAR. 

Where  I  had  Jioped  but  now  to  find  a  morsel 
Of  pilgrim's  fare  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 
The  tables  then  were  filled. 
But  let  the  knight  return  with  me. 

TEMPLAR. 

Why  so  ? 

'Tis  many  a  day  since  I  have  tasted  meat. 
Besides,  what  need  ?    The  dates  are  ripe. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

The  knight 

Should  be  upon  his  guard  against  the  fruit  ; 
Too  much  is  dangerous.     It  clogs  the  spleen, 
Breeds  melancholy. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  what  now  if  I  like 
This  melancholy  ?     But  to  give  that  warning 
You  were  not  sent. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Oh  no  ;  I  was  but  sent 
To  sound  the  knight  somewhat — to  feel  his  pulse. 

TEMPLAR. 
You  tell  me  that  yourself? 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  35 

LAY-BROTHER. 

And  wherefore  not  ? 
TEMPLAR. 

(A  crafty  brother. )     Does  the  monastery 
Have  many  such  as  you  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

I  do  not  know. 
I  must  obey,  sir  knight. 

TEMPLAR. 

So  you  obey, 
And  ask  no  questions  ? 

. 
LAY-BROTHER. 

Were  aught  else  obeying, 
Sir  knight  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

(See  how  simplicity  is  sure 
To  come  off  best ! )     Could  you  not  further  tell 
The  name  of  him  who  seeks  such  knowledge  of  me  ? 
My  oath,  'tis  not  yourself. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Were  it  becoming 
In  me,  or  profitable  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Whom  could  it  profit, 
Or  whom  become  to  be  so  curious  ? 


36  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

The  Patriarch,  I  conclude,  since  he  it  was 
Who  sent  me  here. 

TEMPLAR. 

The  Patriarch  ?     Knows  he  not 
The  white  cloak's  bloody  cross  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Even  I  know  that. 
TEMPLAR. 

Well  then  !     I  am  a  Templar,  and  a  captive. 
And  if  I  add  that  I  was  taken  at  Tebnin, 
The  fortress  that  we  vainly  tried  to  scale 
Before  the  truce  expired,  and  thus  lay  open 
A  passage  into  Sidon, — if  I  add, 
That  twenty  more  were  taken  captive  with  me, 
But  I  alone  received  the  Sultan's  pardon, — 
Then  has  the  Patriarch  all  he  needs  to  know — 
More  than  he  needs. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Scarce  more,  though,  than  he  knew. 
He  fain  would  know  the  reason  why  the  knight 
Was  pardoned  by  the  Sultan— he  alone. 

TEMPLAR. 

I  know  not  that  myself.     My  neck  was  bared, 
And  on  my  mantle  kneeling  I  awaited 
The  final  stroke,  when  more  intent  his  eyes 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  37 

The  Sultan  fixes  on  me,  toward  me  springs, 
And  motions.      I  am  raised  ;  my  chains  fall  off ; 
I  try  to  thank  him  ;  tears  are  in  his  eyes  ; 
Silent  is  he — am  I ;  he  goes,  I  stay. 
What  now  the  meaning  of  it  all  may  be, 
The  Patriarch  must  unriddle  for  himself. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

His  inference  is  that  God  must  have  reserved  you 
For  great,  great  enterprises. 

TEMPLAR. 

Great  indeed  ! 

For  rescuing  a  Jewess  from  the  fire, 
Conducting  curious  pilgrims  up  Mount  Sinai, 
And  more  as  great. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

The  rest  will  come.     Meanwhile 
'Tis  not  a  bad  beginning.     Greater  things 
Already  for  the  knight  the  Patriarch 
May  have  in  store. 

TEMPLAR. 

Ah,  brother,  think  you  so  ? 
Has  any  hint  been  dropped  of  such  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Ay,  ay. 

But  first  I  am  to  sound  the  knight  to  learn 
If  he's  the  man. 


38  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

All  right ;  sound  on  !     (Let's  see 
How  he  will  sound  me  !)     Well  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

The  shortest  way 

Were  honestly  to  set  before  the  knight 
The  Patriarch's  wish. 

TEMPLAR. 
Good  ! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

He  desires  to  send 
A  little  letter  by  the  knight. 

TEMPLAR. 

By  me  ? 

I  am  no  carrier.  So  then,  that's  the  work 
He  holds  more  glorious  than  the  rescuing 
A  Jewess  from  the  fire  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

It  must  be  ;  for — 

The  Patriarch  says — upon  this  little  letter 
The  interests  of  all  Christendom  depend. 
God  will  reward  the  safe  delivery  of  it — 
The  Patriarch  says — with  a  peculiar  crown 
In  heaven  ;  and  of  this  crown — the  Patriarch  says- 
Is  none  more  worthy  than  the  knight. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  39 

TEMPLAR. 

Than  I? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Because  to  earn  this  crown — the  Patriarch  says — 
Is  none  more  fitted  than  the  knight. 

TEMPLAR. 

Than  I? 
LAY-BROTHER. 

You  have  your  freedom  here  ;  can  everything 
Examine  at  your  will ;  you  understand 
How  cities  should  be  stormed,  and  how  defended  ; 
Can  duly  estimate — the  Patriarch  says — 
The  strength  and  weakness  of  that  inner  wall 
Just  built  by  Saladin  ;  and  can  minutely 
Describe  it  to  the  soldiers  of  the  Cross. 

TEMPLAR. 

Could  you  not  further  tell  me  the  contents, 
Good  brother,  of  the  letter  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

The  contents — 

I  know  not  quite  myself.     But  to  King  Philip 
The  letter  is  addressed.     The  Patriarch — 
I  oft  have  wondered  that  a  holy  man, 
Whose  walk  is  else  in  heaven,  should  deign  to  keep 
So  well  informed  of  the  affairs  of  earth. 
It  must  be  very  burdensome  to  him. 


4O  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 
Go  on  ;  the  Patriarch — 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Knows  beyond  a  doubt 

Exactly  how  and  where,  with  how  great  force, 
From  what  direction,  Saladin  will  open 
The  next  campaign,  should  war  break  out  afresh. 

TEMPLAR. 
He  does  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

He  does,  and  would  inform  King  Philip  ; 
That  he  may  judge  if  danger  be  so  great, 
'Twere  better  to  renew  at  any  cost 
The  truce  with  Saladin,  so  lately  broken 
By  your  brave  Order. 

TEMPLAR. 

What  a  Patriarch  ! 

No  common  messenger  he  seeks  in  me, 
Good  honest  man  ;  he  wants — a  spy.     Go,  tell  him, 
As  far  as  you  could  sound  me,  worthy  brother, 
He  had  mistaken  his  man  ;  that  I  am  bound 
To  hold  myself  still  captive  ;  and  that  Templars 
Have  one  profession,  that  of  arms — know  naught 
Of  playing  the  spy. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

I  thought  so  !     None  the  worse 
My  judgment  of  the  knight.     The  best  remains. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  41 

The  Patriarch  has  ferreted  out  the  fortress, 
What  name  it  bears,  and  where  on  Lebanon 
It  lies,  wherein  are  stored  the  enormous  sums 
From  which  the  Sultan's  prudent  father  pays 
The  army,  and  defrays  all  costs  of  war. 
Thither,  from  time  to  time,  the  Sultan  goes, 
By  lonely  roads,  and  almost  unattended. 
You  understand  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
Not  I! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

How  easy  now 

To  overpower  the  Sultan,  or — despatch  him. 
You  shudder  ?     Nay  ;  two  pious  Maronites 
Have  volunteered  already  for  the  deed, 
If  but  some  valiant  man  be  found  to  lead  them. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  did  the  Patriarch  look  to  me  again 
To  be  this  valiant  leader  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

He  believes 

That  out  of  Ptolemais  can  King  Philip 
Give  most  effectual  aid. 

TEMPLAR. 

To  me — to  me  ? 

Have  you  not  heard,  have  you  not  just  been  told, 
What  obligations  bind  me  to  the  Sultan  ? 


42  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

LAY-BROTHER. 
I  heard. 

TEMPLAR. 
And  yet — 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Oh,  yes — the  Patriarch  says — 
That  may  be  very  well ;  but  God,  your  Order — 

TEMPLAR. 
Change  naught ;  command  no  villany  ! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Oh  no; 

But  then — the  Patriarch  says — a  villany 
In  man's  esteem  may  not  be  one  in  God's. 

TEMPLAR. 

My  life  I  owe  the  Sultan.     Shall  my  hand 
Rob  him  of  his  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

As  long — the  Patriarch  says — 
As  Saladin  remains  the  enemy 
Of  Christendom,  he  can  acquire  no  right 
To  be  your  friend. 

TEMPLAR. 

My  friend  ?     A  man  to  whom 
I  only  would  not  play  the  thankless  villain. 

LAY-BROTHER. 
True  ;  but — the  Patriarch  says — the  debt  of  thanks 


NATHAN  TEE   WISE.  43 

Is  cancelled,  cancelled  before  God  and  man, 
For  service  rendered  on  account  of  others. 
And  as — the  Patriarch  says — it  is  reported 
The  Sultan  spared  you  only  for  a  something, 
In  face  or  bearing,  that  recalled  a  brother — 

TEMPLAR. 

That  too  the  Patriarch  knew ;  and  even  yet — 
Oh  were  I  sure  of  that !     Ah,  Saladin  ! 
Could  Nature  fashion  but  a  single  feature 
In  likeness  of  your  brother,  yet  my  soul 
Receive  no  answering  trait ;  or  could  such  trait, 
To  do  a  Patriarch's  pleasure,  be  suppressed  ? 
Nature,  so  liest  thou  not ;  not  so  does  God 
Belie  himself  upon  his  works  !     Go,  brother  ; 
Provoke  me  not  to  anger.     Go  ! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

I  go; 

And  readier  than  I  came.     Forgive  me,  knight. 
We  brothers  have  no  choice  but  to  obey. 


SCENE    VI. 

The  TEMPLAR  and  DAJA.      DAJA  has  been  watching 
from  a  distance,  and  now  approaches, 

DAJA. 

The  brother's  visit  left  him  not,  methinks, 
In  happiest  humor.     Still,  I  needs  must  venture. 


44  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

Ah,  excellent !     The  proverb  holds — that  monk 
And  woman,  woman  and  monk,  are  Satan's  claws. 
To-day  he  throws  me  to  and  fro  between  them. 

DAJA. 

Do  I  again  behold  you,  noble  knight  ? 
Thank  God  a  thousand  times !     But  where  so  long 
Have  you  been  hiding  ?     Not  been  sick,  I  hope  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
No. 

DAJA. 
Well,  then  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
Yes. 

DAJA. 
We  have  been  anxious  for  you. 

TEMPLAR. 
Indeed  ! 

DAJA. 
Have  you  been  on  a  journey  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Yes. 

DAJA. 
And  just  returned  to-day  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

No ;  yesterday. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  45 

DAJA. 

To-day  has  Recha's  father  too  returned. 
Now  may  not  Recha  hope  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

For  what  ? 

DAJA. 

For  that 

She  has  so  often  begged.     Her  father  too 
Will  soon  himself  most  pressingly  invite  you. 
He  comes  from  Babylon,  with  twenty  camels 
Piled  high  with  precious  spices,  stones,  and  stuffs, 
The  rich  returns  of  India,  Persia,  Syria — 
Of  China  even. 

TEMPLAR 
I  do  not  buy. 

DAJA. 

His  people 

Revere  him  as  a  prince  ;  yet  why  '  the  wise' 
They  call  him,  not  'the  rich/  I  often  wonder. 

TEMPLAR. 
To  them,  perchance,  are  rich  and  wise  the  same. 

DAJA. 

Good  should  they  call  him  first.     How  good  he  is 
You  cannot  think.     When  Recha's  debt  to  you 
Was  told  him,  there  was  nothing  in  that  moment 
He'd  not  have  done  for  you  or  given. 


46  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

Indeed ! 

DAJA. 
Try  him,  and  see  ! 

TEMPLAR. 
How  soon  a  moment  passes  ? 

DAJA. 

Were  he  less  good,  should  I  have  been  content 
So  long  to  "dwell  with  him  ?     You  think,  perhaps, 
I  do  not  feel  my  dignity  as  Christian  ? 
Nor  in  my  cradle  was  it  e'er  foretold 
That  for  this  very  cause  to  Palestine 
I  should  accompany  my  wedded  lord, 
There  to  bring  up  a  Jewish  girl.      My  husband, 
A  noble  squire  in  Emperor  Frederick's  army — 

TEMPLAR. 

By  birth  a  Swiss,  to  whom  had  been  accorded 
The  glory  of  drowning  in  the  selfsame  stream 
With  his  Imperial  Majesty.     O  woman, 
How  often  have  you  told  me  that  before  ? 
Is  there  no  end  to  your  pursuing  me  ? 

DAJA. 
Pursuing  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Yes,  pursuing.     I'll  not  see 
Nor  hear  you  more  ;  I  will  not  be  reminded 
Forever  by  you  of  a  deed  I  did 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  47 

Without  a  thought ;  a  riddle  to  myself 
Whene'er  I  think  of  it.     Not  willingly 
Would  I  repent  it ;  but  should  such  a  chance 
Again  occur,  you'll  have  yourself  to  blame 
If  I'm  a  trifle  slower,  stop  to  question, 
And  let  what's  burning,  burn. 

DAJA. 

May  God  forbid  1 

TEMPLAR. 

From  this  day  forth,  grant  me  at  least  the  favor 
Of  knowing  me  no  more.     I  beg  it  of  you. 
Keep  too  the  father  from  me.     Jew  is  Jew. 
I  am  a  clumsy  Swabian.     Long  ago 
The  maiden's  image  faded  from  my  soul, 
If  it  were  ever  there. 

DAJA. 
Not  yours  from  hers. 

TEMPLAR. 
And  what  of  that  ? 

DAJA. 

Who  knows  ?     Men  are  not  always 
The  thing  they  seem. 

TEMPLAR. 
Yet  seldom  better.       [Is  going. 

DAJA. 

Stay; 
Why  haste  you  ? 


48  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

Woman,  do  not  make  these  palms, 
'Neath  which  I've  loved  to  walk,  grow  hateful  to  me. 

DAJA. 

Go  then,  you  Northern  bear  !     Go — go  !     And  yet 
I  must  not  lose  the  monster  out  of  sight. 
\_Shefollows  him  at  a  distance.  ] 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  49 


ACT    SECOND. 


SCENE   I. 

Room  in  the  Stdlan's  palace.     SALADIN  and  SITTAH 
at  chess. 

. 

SITTAH. 

Where  are  you,  Saladin  ?     Why,  how  you  play  ! 

SALADIN. 
Not  well  ?     I  thought  I  did. 

SITTAH. 

For  me  :  yet  hardly. 
Take  back  that  move. 

SALADIN. 
Why  so  ? 

SITTAH. 

The  knight's  exposed. 

SALADIN. 
True  :  so,  then  ! 

SITTAH. 
Then  shall  I  step  in  between. 

SALADIN. 
You're  right  again.     Then  check  ! 

5 


5O  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SlTTAH. 

What  use  in  that  ? 
I  interpose,  and  you  are  where  you  were. 

SALADIN. 

From  this  dilemma  is  there  no  escape, 
Except  by  paying  ?    Well,  then  take  my  knight. 

SlTTAH. 

I  want  him  not ;  I  let  him  stand. 

SALADIN. 

No  favor. 
The  place  was  more  important  than  the  piece. 

SlTTAH. 

May  be. 

SALADIN. 

But  reckon  not  without  your  host. 
See  !  had  you  looked  for  that  ? 

SlTTAH. 

I'd  not,  indeed  ; 
How  could  I  think  you  weary  of  your  queen? 

SALADIN. 
My  queen  ? 

SlTTAH. 

Beyond  my  thousand  denarii, 
No  fraction  shall  I  win  to-day,  I  see. 

SALADIN. 
How  so  ? 


NATHAN    THE    WISE.  51 

SlTTAH. 

You  ask  ?     Because  with  all  your  might 
You  will  be  beaten.     That's  no  gain  to  me. 
Small  pleasure  can  one  take  in  games  like  that. 
Besides,  win  I  not  always  most  from  you 
When  I  have  lost  ?     When  have  you  failed  to  send 
The  double  of  the  stake,  to  comfort  me 
For  my  defeat  ? 

SALADIN. 

Ah  !   so,  my  little  sister, 
When  you  have  lost,  you  lost  on  purpose — eh  ? 

SITTAH. 

Your  generosity  at  least,  dear  brother, 
May  be  to  blame  that  I'm  no  better  player. 

SALADIN. 
But  we  forget  our  game.     Come,  make  an  end  ! 

SITTAH. 
How  stands  it  ?   So  then,  check,  and  double  check  ! 

SALADIN. 

That  double  check  I  truly  had  not  seen. 
It  robs  me  of  my  queen. 

SITTAH. 

Could  you  have  helped  it  ? 
Let's  see ! 

SALADIN. 

No,  no  ;  take  off  the  queen.     I  ne'er 
Was  lucky  with  the  piece. 


52  NATHAN    THE    WISE. 

SlTTAH. 

Only  the  piece  ? 
SALADIN. 

Away  with  her  !     No  harm  is  done  ;  for  thus 
All's  safe  again. 

SITTAH. 

Well  has  my  brother  taught 
The  courtesy  that  should  be  showed  to  queens. 

[Leaves  her. 
SALADIN. 
Take  her  or  take  her  not !     I  have  no  other. 

SITTAH. 
Why  should  I  take  her  ?     Check  !  check  ! 

SALADIN. 

Keep  on ! 

SITTAH. 

Check  ! 
And  check  !  and  check  ! 

SALADIN. 
And  mate  ! 

SITTAH. 

Not  quite  ;  your  knight 
Can  interpose,  or  what  you  will ;  all  one. 

SALADIN. 

Right !     You  have  won,  and  Hafi  pays.     Go,  call 
him  ! — 


A'ATHAN   THE    WISE.  53 

You  guessed  aright,  dear  Sittah  ;  for  my  mind 
Was  not  intent  upon  the  game — it  wandered. 
Besides,  who  gives  us  these  smooth  pieces  always, 
That  have  no  meaning,  no  suggestion  in  them  ? 
Have  I  not  played  with  the  Imam  himself? — 
Defeat  but  seeks  excuse.     'Twas  not  alone 
The  shapeless  pieces,  Sittah,  made  me  lose. 
Your  skill,  your  sharper,  quicker  eye — 

SITTAH. 

There  too 

You  would  but  blunt  the  sting  of  your  defeat. 
Enough,  you  were  preoccupied  ;  even  more 
Than  I. 

SALADIN. 
Than  you  ?     What  had  you  on  your  mind  ? 

SITTAH. 

Not  your  anxiety. — O  Saladin, 
When  shall  we  play  so  heartily  again  ? 

SALADIN. 

We'll  play  but  so  much  the  more  eagerly. 
Because  there's  to  be  war  again,  you  mean  ? 
So  be  it !     Forward  !     I  did  not  begin. 
I  gladly  would  have  had  the  truce  renewed ; 
Gladly,  most  gladly,  would  have  given  my  Sittah 
A  noble  husband,  too,  as  Richard's  brother 
Had  surely  been.     Is  he  not  Richard's  brother  ? 

SITTAH. 

Ah,  if  you  can  but  sing  your  Richard's  praises  ! 
5* 


54  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

SALADIN. 

If  Richard's  sister,  then,  could  have  become 
Our  brother  Melech's  wife —  Ah,  what  a  house  ! 
Of  all  the  best,  first  houses  in  the  world, 
The  best,  the  first.     You  see  I  am  not  slow 
To  praise  myself.     I  do  not  deem  myself 
Unworthy  of  my  friends.     What  men  had  then 
Been  born  into  the  world  ! 

SITTAH. 

Did  I  not  laugh 

From  the  beginning  at  your  beauteous  dreams  ? 
You  do  not  know,  you  will  not  know  the  Christians. 
Christianity,  not  manhood,  is  their  pride. 
E'en  that  which  from  their  founder  down  has  spiced 
Their  superstition  with  humanity, 
'Tis  not  for  its  humanity  they  love  it. 
No  ;  but  because  Christ  taught,  Christ  practised  it. 
Happy  for  them  he  was  so  good  a  man  ! 
Happy  for  them  that  they  can  trust  his  virtue  ! 
His  virtue  ?     Not  his  virtue,  but  his  name, 
They  say,  shall  spread  abroad,  and  shall  devour 
And  put  to  shame  the  names  of  all  good  men. 
The  name,  the  name  is  all  their  pride. 

SALADIN. 

Why  else, 

You  think,  should  they  require  of  you  and  Melech 
To  take  the  Christian  name,  ere  you  could  love 
A  Christian  consort  ? 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  55 

SlTTAH. 

Yes  ;  as  if  in  Christians, 
As  Christians  only,  could  exist  that  love 
With  which,  in  the  beginning,  God  endowed 
Both  man  and  woman. 

SALADIN. 

Poor  conceits  too  many 
The  Christians  hold,  not  to  believe  that  also. 
And  yet  you  err.     The  Templars,  not  the  Christians, 
Are  here  to  blame ;  are  not  to  blame  as  Christians, 
But  Templars.     They  it  is  who  bring  our  plans 
To  naught.     They  will  not  lose  their  hold  on  Acca, 
Which  Richard's  sister,  as  her  dower,  would  bring 
To  Melech.     Lest  the  knightly  interest 
Should  suffer  loss,  they  play  the  silly  monk. 
A  sudden  blow  they  think  may  have  success, 
And  scarce  can  wait  until  the  truce  be  o'er. — 
Keep  on,  my  masters,  on  !     I'm  well  content. 
Were  but  all  else  as  I  would  have  it ! 

SITTAH. 

What 
What  else  disturbed  you — so  could  ruffle  you  ? 

SALADIN. 

What  always  has  disturbed  me.  I  have  been 
Upon  Mount  Lebanon  ;  I've  seen  our  father. 
His  cares  still  burden  him. 

SITTAH. 
Alas! 


56  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

SALADIN. 

Escape 
There's  none  ;   on  every  side  he's  cramped ;    falls 

back, 
Now  here,  now  there. 

SITTAH. 
What  is  it  lacks  ?     What  cramps  him  ? 

SALADIN. 

What  else  but  that  I  hardly  deign  to  name  ; 
Which,  when  I  have,  seems  worthless ;  but  when  not, 
Is  indispensable  ? — Where  tarries  Hafi  ? 
WTas  he  not  called  ? — This  fatal,  cursed  gold  ! 
Good,  Hafi,  that  you're  come. 


SCENE    II. 
The  dervise  AL-HAFI.     SALADIN.     SITTAH. 

AL-HAFI. 

The  gold  from  Egypt 
Has  then  arrived.     There  need  be  plenty  of  it. 

SALADIN. 
Have  you  had  tidings  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

I  ?     Not  I !     I  came 
Expecting  to  receive  them. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  57 

SALADIN. 

Pay  to  Sittah 
A  thousand  denarii. 

[  Walks  io  and  fro,  lost  in  thought, 

AL-HAFI. 
Pay — not  receive  ! 

That's  good  !     A  something  rather  less  than  naught. 
To  Sittah  ?     Once  again  to  Sittah  ?     Lost  ? 
And  lost  again  at  chess  !     There  stands  the  game. 

SITTAH. 
You  cannot  grudge  me  my  good  fortune  ? 

AL-HAFI  (studying  the  game). 

Grudge  ? 
If —  But  you  know. 

SITTAH  (motioning  to  him). 
Hush,  Hafi,  hush  ! 

AL-HAFI  (still  looking  on  the  board}. 

'Twere  better 
You  grudged  yourself. 

SITTAH. 
Hush,  Hafi! 

AL-HAFI  (to  Sittah). 

Yours  the  white? 
You  offer  check  ? 

SITTAH. 
'Tis  well  he  does  not  hear. 


58  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

AL-HAFI. 
The  move  is  his  ? 

SITTAH  (going  nearer  to  hint). 

Pray,  say  I  may  receive 
My  money. 

AL-HAFI  (still  intent  on  the  game). 

Yes ;  you  shall  receive  the  money, 
As  you  receive  it  always. 

SITTAH. 
Are  you  mad  ? 

AL-HAFI. 
The  game's  not  over,  Saladin — not  lost. 

SALADIN  (scarce  attending). 
No  matter  !     Pay  ! 

AL-HAFI. 
Pay — pay  ! — There  stands  your  queen. 

SALADIN. 
She  counts  for  naught ;  belongs  not  in  the  game. 

SITTAH. 
Make  haste  and  say  that  I  may  fetch  the  money. 

AL-HAFI  (still  eager  with  the  game]. 
Of  course  ;  as  usual. — But  suppose  the  queen 
Be  no  more  in  the  game,  you're  not  yet  mated. 


NATHAN    THE    WISE.  59 

SALADIN  (approaches  and  overturns  the  board], 
I  am  ;  I  will  be. 

AL-HAFI. 

So  !     As  played,  so  won  ! 
And  as  'twas  won,  so  'twill  be  paid. 

SALADIN  (to  Sittah}. 

What  says  he  ? 

SITTAH  (occasionally  signing  to  Al-Hafi). 
You  know  him  ;  how  he  likes  to  make  objections  ; 
To  be  entreated  ;  sometimes  will  be  jealous. 

SALADIN. 

But  not  of  you  ?     Not  of  my  sister  ? — Hafi, 
What  hear  I  of  you  ?     Jealous  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

May  be  so. 
T  would  I  had  her  mind ;  were  good  as  she. 

SITTAH. 

Still,  he  has  always  paid  me  honestly  ; 
To-day,  too,  will  he  pay.     Trust  him. — Go,  Hafi  ! 
I'll  send  and  fetch  the  money. 

AL-HAFI. 

No  ;  I  play 
This  farce  with  you  no  more.     He  must  be  told. 

SALADIX. 
Who  ?     What  ? 


60  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SlTTAH. 

Al-Hafi,  keep  you  thus  your  word  ? 
Is  this  your  promise  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

How  could  I  suppose 
You'd  carry  it  so  far  ? 

SALADIN. 

Shall  I  learn  naught  ? 

SITTAH. 
I  pray  you,  Hafi,  be  discreet. 

SALADIN. 

'Tis  strange ! 

Does  Sittah  pray  so  earnestly,  so  warmly 
A  stranger's  and  a  dervise's  forbearance, 
Rather  than  mine,  her  brother's  ?     I  command, 
Al-Hafi  !     Dervise,  speak  ! 

SITTAH. 

Let  not  a  trifle 

Disturb  you,  brother,  more  than  it  deserves. 
You  know  that  many  times  I've  won  from  you 
This  same  amount  at  chess  ;  and  since  the  money 
To  me  was  useless  now,  and  Han's  chest 
Had  none  too  much  of  it,  I  left  it  there. 
But  have  no  fear,  for  neither  you,  my  brother, 
Nor  Hafi,  nor  the  treasury,  shall  keep  it. 

AL-HAFI. 
Ah,  if  that  were  all ! 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  6 1 

SlTTAH. 

There's  more  of  the  same. 
E'en  that  is  in  the  treasury,  untouched, 
That  once  you  handed  me  yourself :  some  months 
Has  it  been  lying  there. 

AL-HAFI. 

E'en  that's  not  all. 

SALADIN. 
Not  all  ?     Speak  out,  then  ! 

AL-HAFI. 

Since  we've  been  expecting 
The  gold  from  Egypt,  she — 

SITTAH  (to  Saladiri), 

Why  listen  to  him  ? 

AL-HAFI. 
Not  only  drew  no  money,  but — 

SALADIN. 

Advanced 
Her  own  ? — not  so  ! 

AL-HAFI. 

Supported  the  whole  court. 
Herself  alone  defrayed  your  whole  expense. 

SALADIN  (embracing  her*). 
My  own  true  sister  ! 


62  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SlTTAH. 

Who  but  you,  my  brother, 
Had  made  me  rich  enough  to  do  so  much  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

And  now  is  making  her  as  poor,  as  beggared 
As  he  himself. 

SALADIN. 

I  poor  ?     Her  brother  poor  ? 

When  had  I  more — when  less  ?  A  cloak,  a  sword, 
A  horse — and  God  !  What  need  I  more  ?  In  these, 
When  can  I  want  ?  Yet  could  I  chide  you,  Hafi. 

SITTAH. 

Nay,  chide  not,  brother.     Could  I  but  relieve 
Our  father's  needs  as  well ! 

SALADIN. 

Ah,  there  you  dash 
My  happiness  again.     I,  for  myself, 
Want  nothing — cannot  want.     But  he — he  wants ; 
And  in  him,  want  we  all.     What  shall  I  do  ? 
It  may  be  long  before  the  gold  arrives 
From  Egypt.     Why  so  great  delay,  God  knows. 
All's  quiet  there.     I  will  economize, 
Will  save,  submit  to  aught  that  but  concerns 
Myself,  and  brings  no  suffering  on  others. 
But  what  avails  it  all  ?     A  horse,  a  cloak, 
A  sword — these  must  I  have  ;  and  with  my  God 
There  is  no  cheapening.     Little  enough  it  is 


NATIIAN   THE    WISE.  63 

Contents  him  now — my  heart.     I  counted  much 
Upon  your  treasury's  overplus,  Al-Hafi. 

AL-HAFI. 

My  overplus  ?     Confess  yourself,  empaling, 
Or  strangling  at  the  least,  had  been  my  doom, 
If  any  overplus  you'd  caught  me  in. 
A  fraud,  indeed,  had  been  a  safer  venture. 

SALADIN. 
What's   to   be   done? — Was  there,  then,  none   but 

Sittah 
To  borrow  of? 

SITTAH. 

Would  I  that  privilege, 

My  brother,  have  relinquished  ?     Still  I  claim  it. 
Still  not  quite  to  the  bottom  am  I  drained. 

SALADIN. 
Not    quite  !      That's  worst   of  all. — Take   instant 

measures  ; 

Get  gold  of  whom  you  can,  and  as  you  can  ; 
Go,  borrow — promise  !     Only  borrow  not 
Of  those  made  rich  by  me ;  such  borrowing 
Were  asking  back  my  gifts.     Seek  the  most  greedy : 
They  readiest  lend  to  me ;  for  they  have  learned 
How  in  my  hands  their  gold  accumulates. 

AL-HAFI. 
I  know  none  such. 


64  NATHAN    THE    WISE. 

SlTTAH. 

I  just  bethink  me,  Hafi, 
I  heard  your  friend  was  back  again. 

AL-HAFI  (embarrassed). 

My  friend? 
Who  may  he  be  ? 

SITTAH. 
That  much-praised  Jew  of  yours. 

AL-HAFI. 
A  much-praised  Jew — of  mine  ? 

SITTAH. 

Endowed  by  God, — 
I  well  remember  yet  the  words  you  used 
In  speaking  of  him, — one  endowed  by  God 
In  fullest  measure  with  the  least  and  greatest 
Of  all  this  world's  possessions. 

AL-HAFI. 

Said  I  so  ? 
What  could  such  words  have  meant  ? 

SITTAH. 

The  least  is  riches  ; 
The  greatest,  wisdom. 

AL-HAFI. 

Of  a  Jew  ?     What  Jew 
Could  words  like  those  have  fitted  ? 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  65 

SlTTAH. 

Not  your  Nathan  ? 
AL-HAFI. 

Ah,  Nathan — yes  ;  I  had  not  thought  of  him. 
Is  he  indeed  come  back  again  at  last  ? 
Things  must  have  prospered  with  him  then.     Tis 

true, 
The  people  called  him  once  the  Wise — and  Rich. 

SITTAH. 

Now  more  than  ever  call  they  him  the  Rich. 
The  city  rings  with  stories  of  the  jewels, 
The  treasures  he  has  brought. 

AL-HAFI. 

So  then  the  Rich 
He  is  again,  and  soon  will  be  the  Wise. 

SITTAH. 
What  say  you  to  approaching  him,  Al-Hafi  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

For  what  ?     You  do  not  mean  to  borrow  ?     Ah, 
There  you  mistake  him.     Nathan  lend  !     Therein 
Consists  his  wisdom,  that  he  lends  to  none. 

SITTAH. 
Another  picture  of  him  once  you  drew. 

AL-HAFI. 

He'd  lend  you  merchandise  at  need  ;  but  money, 
His  money,  never  !     Otherwise  a  Jew, 
6* 


66  X AT HAN   THE    WISE. 

Whose  like  is  rarely  found  among  his  people. 
He  has  intelligence,  knows  how  to  live, 
Is  strong  at  chess.     But  he  excels  the  rest 
In  evil  as  in  good.     Count  not  on  him. 
Tis  true,  he  gives  the  poor.     A  match  he  is 
For  Saladin,  in  giving.     Not  as  much, 
Perhaps,  but  just  as  gladly — just  as  free 
From  all  distinction.     Mussulman,  Parsee, 
The  Christian,  or  the  Jew,  all  one  to  him. 

SITTAH. 
And  such  a  man — 

SALADIN. 

How  can  I  ne'er  have  heard 
Of  such  a  man  till  now  ! 

SITTAH. 

Would  he  not  lend 
To  Saladin — to  Saladin,  who  spends 
For  others  only,  not  himself? 

AL-HAFI. 

There  shows 

The  Jew  again — the  ordinary  Jew. 
My  word  for  it,  so  envious  he  is, 
So  jealous  of  your  giving  !     No  "  God  bless  you 
In  all  the  world,  but  he'd  have  said  to  him. 
He  therefore  lends  to  none,  lest  he  should  lose 
The  means  of  giving.     Charity  his  law 
Commands,  but  it  commands  not  courtesy  ; 
And  thus  through  charity  is  he  become 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  67 

The  most  discourteous  neighbor  in  the  world. 
Tis  true,  we've  not  been  on  good  terms  of  late ; 
But  think  me  not  for  that  unjust  to  him. 
In  all  else  is  he  good,  but  not  to  lend  : 
Trust  me  he'd  not. — I'll  knock  at  other  doors. 
I  just  bethink  me  of  a  Moor  who's  rich 
And  miserly. — I  go  !  I  go  ! 

SITTAH. 

What  haste, 
Al-Hafi? 

SALADIN. 
Let  him  go  :  nay,  let  him  go  ! 


SCENE   III. 
SITTAH.     SALADIN. 

SITTAH. 

He  hurries  off  as  he  were  glad  to  escape. 
What  means  it  ?     Has  he  been  himself  deceived, 
Or  would  he  mislead  us  ? 

SALADIN. 

Why  ask  of  me  ? 

I  hardly  know  of  whom  you  spoke.     This  Nathan, 
This  Jew  of  yours,  I  never  heard  his  name 
Until  to-day. 


68  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SlTTAH. 

How  is  it  possible 

You  never  heard  of  one  of  whom  'tis  said 
He  has  explored  the  graves  of  Solomon 
And  David,  and  by  certain  magic  words 
Can  loose  their  seals  ?     And  further,  that  from  them 
He  brings  to  light  of  day,  from  time  to  time, 
That  boundless  wealth  which  speaks  no  lesser  source. 

SALADIN. 

If  'tis  from  graves  this  man  derives  his  wealth, 
Tis  surely  not  from  Solomon's  or  David's, 
But  from  the  graves  of  fools  ! 

SITTAH. 

Or  knaves  !     Besides, 

More  yielding  are  the  sources  of  his  wealth 
Than  such  a  mammon-pit ;   exhaustless  are  they. 

SALADIN. 
He  trades,  you  say. 

SITTAH. 

His  beasts  of  burden  toil 
On  every  highway  and  through  every  desert  ; 
In  every  harbor  lie  his  ships.     Al-Hafi 
So  told  me  once,  and  rapturously  added 
How  generously,  nobly  would  his  friend 
Employ  the  wealth  he  had  not  thought  too  mean 
To  labor  for  with  hand  and  brain  :  he  added, 
How  free  from  prejudice  his  spirit  was, 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  69 

How  open  was  his  heart  to  every  virtue, 
With  all  things  beautiful  in  sympathy. 

SALADIN. 

Yet  now  Al-Hafi  spoke  so  doubtfully, 
So  coldly  of  him! 

SITTAH. 

Coldly  ? — no ;  embarrassed. 
As  deemed  he  it  were  dangerous  to  praise, 
Yet  would  not  censure  undeservedly. 
Or  is  it  that  the  best  among  his  people 
Can  never  quite  escape  the  Jew  ;  that  here 
Is  Hafi  disappointed  in  his  friend  ? 
But  be  he  what  he  may — more  than  a  Jew 
Or  less — is  he  but  rich,  enough  for  us. 

SALADIN. 

You  surely  would  not  take  his  gold  from  him 
By  violence,  dear  sister  ! 

SITTAH. 

Violence  ? 

What  call  you  violence  ?  by  fire  and  sword  ? 
No,  no  ;  against  the  weak  what  force  is  needed 
Save  their  own  weakness  ? — Come  with  me  awhile 
Into  my  harem  ;  you  must  hear  a  singer 
I  bought  me  yesterday.     Meanwhile  a  plan 
I  have  for  Nathan  shall  be  ripening.     Come  ! 


70  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 


SCENE    IV. 

Near  the  palms  before  NATHAN'S  house.     RECHA  and 
NATHAN  come  from  the  house.     DAJA  joins  them. 

RECHA. 

Why  have  you  been  so  long  in  coming,  father  ? 
You  scarce  will  find  him  now. 

NATHAN. 

Well,  well ;  if  here 

No  more,  no  longer  'neath  these  palms,  yet  else 
where. 
Be  tranquil.     See,  comes  there  not  Daja  to  us  ? 

RECHA. 
She's  lost  him,  I  am  sure. 

NATHAN. 

Perhaps  not,  Recha. 

RECHA. 
She'd  come  more  quickly  else. 

NATHAN. 

She  may  not  see  us. ... 

RECHA. 
She  sees  us  now. 

NATHAN. 

And  hurries  forward.     Look  ! 
Be  calm — be  quiet ! 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  71 

RECHA. 

Would  you  want  a  child 

Who  could  be  calm, — who  could  be  unconcerned 
For  one  whose  bravery  was  her  life — the  life 
She  values  only  as  it  came  from  you  ? 

NATHAN. 

I  would  not  have  you  other  than  you  are  ; 
Not  though  I  read  a  something  in  your  soul 
You  will  not  name. 

RECHA. 
What,  father  ? 

NATHAN. 

Do  you  ask — 

Ask  me  so  timidly  ?     Whate'er  be  stirred 
Within  you,  'tis  but  innocence  and  nature. 
Fear  not.     I  have  no  fear.     But  promise  me — 
If  e'er  your  heart  declare  itself  more  plainly, 
No  wish  of  it  shall  be  concealed  from  me. 

RECHA. 

You  make  me  tremble  but  to  think  my  heart 
Could  ever  wish  concealment  from  my  father. 

NATHAN. 

Enough  ;  'tis  once  for  all  agreed  between  us. — 
See,  here  is  Daja  ! — Well  ? 

DAJA. 

He's  walking  yet 

Beneath  the  palms,  just  hid  by  yonder  wall. 
Look,  there  he  is  ! 


72  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

RECHA. 

Ah,  see  !     He  hesitates. 
Will  he  go  on  or  back,  to  right  or  left  ? 

DAJA. 

No,  no  ;  he's  sure  to  take  again  the  path 
Around  the  cloister,  and  must  pass  this  way. 

RECHA. 

Right,  right !     Say,  have  you  spoken  with  him  to 
day  ? 
How  is  he  ? 

DAJA. 
Just  as  always. 

NATHAN. 

Have  a  care 

He  does  not  see  you.     Better  further  back  ; — 
Or  safest  in  the  house. 

RECHA. 

But  one  look  more  ! 
Alas,  the  hedge  that  steals  him  from  me  ! 

DAJA. 

Come! 

Your  father's  right.     He  might  turn  back  at  once, 
Should  he  behold  you.     Come  1 

RECHA. 

Ah  me,  that  hedge ! 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  73 

NATHAN. 

And  should  he  suddenly  emerge  from  it, 
He  could  not  fail  to  see  you.     Go,  then — go  ! 

DAJA. 

Come,  come  with  me  ;  I'll  take  you  to  a  window, 
Whence  we  may  watch  them  unobserved.     Come  ! 

RECHA. 

Yes? 
\Both  into  the  house. 


SCENE  V. 
NATHAN.     Soon  afterward  the  TEMPLAR. 

NATHAN. 

I  almost  dread  to  meet  this  strange  Unknown  ; 
I  almost  shrink  before  his  rugged  virtue. 
Strange  that  one  man  can  make  his  fellow-man 
Thus  ill  at  ease  ! — Ah,  there  he  comes. By  heaven  ! 
A  manly  youth.     That  brave,  defiant  look, 
I  like  it  well — that  solid  tread.     The  shell 
Alone  is  bitter ;  surely  not  the  kernel. 
Where  have  I  seen  one  like  him  ? — Noble  Frank, 
Forgive  me — 

TEMPLAR. 
What? 

NATHAN. 
Permit  me — 


74  NATHAN  THK  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

What,  Jew,  what  ? 
NATHAN. 
That  I  presume  to  address  you. 

TEMPLAR. 

Can  I  help  it? 
Be  brief! 

NATHAN. 

Forgive,  and  hurry  not  so  proudly, 
With  such  contempt,  past  one  whom  you  have  bound 
Unto  yourself  forever. 

TEMPLAR. 
How  is  that : 
Ah,  I  can  guess.     You  are — 

NATHAN. 

My  name  is  Nathan  ; 

I'm  father  of  the  maiden  whom  you  saved 
So  generously  from  the  fire.     I  come — 

TEMPLAR. 

If  'tis  to  thank  me,  you  may  spare  yourself. 
Too  many  thanks  have  I  endured  already 
For  such  a  trifle.     Nothing  do  you  owe  me. 
How  did  I  know  the  maiden  was  your  daughter  ? 
It  is  the  Templar's  duty  to  assist 
The  first,  the  best  whose  need  he  sees.     Besides, 
My  life  was  at  that  moment  hateful  to  me. 
I  gladly  seized  the  opportunity 


NATHAN    THE    WISE.  75 

To  risk  it  for  another — for  another, 
Though  but  a  Jewess. 

NATHAN. 

It  is  nobly  spoken — 
Offensively  and  nobly.     Yet  I  read 
Your  motive.     Modest  greatness  shields  itself 
Behind  offensive  words  from  admiration. 
But  if  it  scorn  the  tribute  of  our  praise, 
Is  there  none  other  less  contemptible  ? 
Knight,  were  you  not  a  prisoner  here,  a  stranger, 
I  should  not  be  thus  bold.     Command  me — speak  ! 
What  service  can  be  done  you  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

None  by  you. 

NATHAN. 
Yet  I  am  rich. 

TEMPLAR. 

To  me  the  richest  Jew 
Was  ne'er  the  best. 

NATHAN. 

Might  you  not  still  employ 
That  better  which  he  has — employ  his  wealth  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Good  ;  there  I  will  not  wholly  say  you  nay — 
E'en  for  my  mantle's  sake.     When  this  be  worn 
To  tatters,  so  that  neither  shred  nor  stitch 
Will  hold  together  longer,  I  will  come 


76  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

And  borrow  cloth  or  money  for  a  new  one. — 

Look  not  so  troubled.     You  are  safe  a  while. 

'Tis  not  yet  come  to  that.     See,  it  is  still 

In  tolerable  condition.     Only  here 

It  has  an  ugly  spot ;  this  end  was  scorched. 

But  lately  did  it  happen,  as  I  bore 

Your  daughter  through  the  fire. 

NATHAN  (taking  hold  of  the  corner  and  looking  ai  if). 

Strange  that  a  burn, 

An  ugly  spot  like  that,  should  bear  this  man 
A  better  testimony  than  his  lips  ! — 
Might  I  but  kiss  it — kiss  the  spot  I     Ah,  pardon, 
'Twas  unawares. 

TEMPLAR. 
What? 

NATHAN. 
That  a  tear  fell  on  it. 

TEMPLAR. 

No  matter,  it  has  had  such  drops  before. 
(I  soon  shall  grow  confused  before  this  Jew.) 

NATHAN. 

Might  I  request  the  further  favor  of  you, 
That  you  would  send  your  mantle  to  my  daughter  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
What  would  she  with  it  ? 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  JJ 

NATHAN. 

That  her  lips  may  press 

The  spot,  since  to  embrace  your  knees,  in  vain 
Is  her  desire. 

TEMPLAR. 

But,  Jew — your  name  is  Nathan  ? 
But,  Nathan — you  have  spoken  well,  and  sharply. 
I  know  not  what  to  answer.     Surely — I — 

NATHAN. 

Disguise  yourself,  dissemble  as  you  will. 
Here  too  I've  found  you  out.     You  were  too  good, 
Too  honorable  to  be  more  polite. 
A  girl,  all  sentiment — her  waiting  woman, 
All  eagerness  to  serve — her  father  absent — 
You  cared  for  her  good  name  ;  fled  from  her  gaze — 
Fled  that  you  might  not  conquer.     Further  cause 
For  thanks. 

TEMPLAR. 

I  must  confess  you  know  the  motives 
That  ought  to  be  a  Templar's. 

NATHAN. 

But  a  Templar's  ? 

Ought  only — and  because  his  Order  bids  ? 
I  know  a  good  man's  motives,  and  I  know 
Good  men  are  everywhere. 

TEMPLAR. 

With  no  distinction  ? 


7 8  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

NATHAN. 
Distinguished  by  their  color,  form,  and  dress. 

TEMPLAR. 
Not  more  or  less  in  one  place  than  another  ? 

NATHAN. 

All  such  distinctions  are  of  small  account. 
The  great  man  everywhere  needs  ample  space  : 
Too  many,  closely  planted,  dash  themselves 
Against  each  other.     Average  ones,  like  us, 
Stand  everywhere  in  crowds.     But  let  not  one 
Cast  slurs  upon  the  others.     Knots  and  gnarls 
Must  live  on  friendly  terms.     One  little  peak 
Must  not  take  airs,  as  'twere  the  only  one 
Not  sprung  from  earth. 

TEMPLAR. 

Well  said  !     But  know  you,  Nathan, 
What  people  practised  first  this  casting  slurs — 
What  people  were  the  first  to  call  themselves 
The  chosen  people  ?     How  if  I — not  hate, 
Indeed — but  cannot  help  despising  them 
For  all  their  pride, — a  pride  which  has  descended 
To  Mussulman  and  Christian, — that  their  God 
Must  be  the  one  true  God  ?     You  start  to  hear 
Such  words  from  me,  a  Christian  and  a  Templar. 
When,  where,  has  this  fanaticism  of  having 
The  better  God,  and  forcing  him  as  best 
On  all  the  world,  e'er  showed  itself  in  colors 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  79 

More  black  than  here  and  now  ?    Who  here  and  now 
Feels  not  his  eyes  unsealed  ?     But  be  he  blind 
Who  will ! — Forget  what  I  have  said,  and  leave  me. 

[Going. 
NATHAN. 

You  know  not  how  much  closer  you  have  drawn  me. 
We  must,  we  must  be  friends  !     Despise  my  people 
With  all  your  heart.     We  neither  chose  our  people. 
Are  we  our  people  ?     What  does  "  people"  mean  ? 
Is  Jew  or  Christian  rather  Jew  or  Christian 
Than  man  ?     May  I  have  found  in  you  another 
Who  is  content  to  be  esteemed  a  man  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

You  have,  by  heaven,  you  have  1  Your  hand  !  I  blush 
That  for  a  moment  I  should  have  misjudged  you. 

NATHAN. 

And  I  am  proud  ;  for  'tis  the  vulgar  only 
That  rarely  is  misjudged. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  but  the  rare 

That's  not  forgotten.     Nathan,  yes,  we  must, 
We  must  indeed  be  friends. 

NATHAN. 

Are  so  already. 

How  Recha  will  rejoice  !     And  ah,  how  bright 
The  future  opens  to  me  !     Only  know  her  ! 


80  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

I'm  burning  with  impatience.     Who  is  this 
Comes  running  from  your  house — is  it  not  Daja  ? 

NATHAN. 
Tis  she — but  why  so  troubled  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Oh,  may  naught 
Have  happened  to  our  Recha  ! 


SCENE    VI. 
The  preceding.     DAJA  enters  hastily. 

DAJA. 

Nathan,  Nathan  ! 

NATHAN. 
Well? 

DAJA. 
Pardon  me  that  I  disturb  you,  knight. 

NATHAN. 
What  is  it  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
What  ? 


NATHAN  THE  WISE:  8 1 

DAJA. 

The  Sultan  sent. 

The  Sultan  wants  to  see  you.     Oh,  good  heaven  1 
The  Sultan ! 

NATHAN. 

Me  ? — the  Sultan  ?     He  desires 
To  see  what  novelties  I've  brought ;  but  tell  him 
That  little — nothing  has  been  yet  unpacked. 

DAJA. 

Naught  will  he  see ;  he  wants  to  speak  with  you, 
With  you  in  person,  soon,  as  soon  as  may  be. 

NATHAN. 
I  come.     Go,  go  ! 

DAJA. 

Be  not  displeased,  dread  knight. 
We're  so  concerned  to  know  the  Sultan's  pleasure  ! 

NATHAN. 
That  will  be  known  in  time.     Go,  leave  us  now  ! 


SCENE   VII. 
NATHAN  and  the  TEMPLAR. 

TEMPLAR. 
Then  know  you  him  not  personally  yet  ? 


82  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

NATHAN. 
The  Sultan  ?    No.     I've  neither  shunned  nor  sought 

him. 

The  common  fame  spoke  far  too  well  of  him 
For  me  not  rather  to  believe  than  see. 
But  now — though  that  be  false,  his  saving  of  your 

life— 

TEMPLAR. 

Yes  ;  that  at  least  is  true.     I  hold  my  life 
But  as  his  gift. 

NATHAN. 

He  granted  me  with  that 
A  double,  threefold  life.     That  changes  all 
Between  us ;  throws  a  sudden  net  about  me 
Which  binds  me  to  his  service  evermore. 
Scarce  can  I  wait  to  learn  his  first  commands. 
I  am  prepared  for  all ;  and  will  confess 
I  am  so  for  your  sake. 

TEMPLAR. 

Oft  as  I've  met  him 

I've  found  no  way  to  thank  him  yet  myself. 
The  impression  that  I  made  upon  him  came 
As  suddenly  as  suddenly  it  passed. 
It  may  be  he  remembers  me  no  more  : 
Yet  once  at  least  he  must  remember  me, 
To  speak  my  final  sentence.     Not  enough 
That  I  exist  at  his  command  ;  have  life 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  83 

But  by  his  will :  he  must  decide  whose  will 
Shall  guide  my  life. 

NATHAN. 

True  :  I  will  haste  the  more. 
Some  word  may  furnish  opportunity 
To  speak  of  you.     Permit  me — pardon —  I  haste. 
When  will  you  come  to  us  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Whene'er  I  may. 

NATHAN. 
Whene'er  you  will. 

TEMPLAR. 
To-day,  then. 

NATHAN. 

And  your  name, 
I  pray  you  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
Was — is  Curd  von  Stauffen.     Curd  ! 

NATHAN. 
Von  Stauffen — Stauffen  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
Does  the  name  surprise  you  ? 

NATHAN. 
Von  Stauffen  ?     Many  of  that  name  have  here — 


84  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

Oh  yes ;  full  many  here  have  lived  and  died. 
My  uncle — father —  But  why  fix  your  eyes 
With  such  a  growing  eagerness  upon  me  ? 

NATHAN. 

Oh,  nothing,  nothing  !     Can  I  e'er  be  weary 
Of  gazing  on  you  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Then  I  leave  you  first. 
The  seeker's  eye  not  seldom  has  discovered 
More  than  the  seeker  wished.     I  dread  it,  Nathan. 
Let  time,  not  curiosity,  cement 
Our  friendship.  \He  goes. 

NATHAN. 

Oft  the  seeker's  eye  discovers 

More  than  he  wished. — He  seemed  to  read  my  soul. 
That  might  befall  me  here. — 'Tis  not  alone 
Wolfs  gait,  Wolfs  figure,  but  his  voice  as  well. 
Exactly  so  would  Wolf  throw  back  his  head  ; 
So  carried  Wolf  his  sword  ;  so  Wolf  would  shade 
His  brow  to  hide  the  flashing  of  his  eyes. 
How  such  deep-printed  images  will  slumber 
Within  us,,  till  a  word,  a  sound  awakes  them  ! 
Von  Stauffen — that  was  it.     Filneck  and  Stauffen. 
Of  this  I  must  know  more,  and  presently. 
But  first  to  Saladin. — Who's  listening  there? 
Js  it  not  Daja  ?     Come,  come  nearer,  Daja. 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  85 

SCENE   VIII, 
DAJA.     NATHAN. 

NATHAN. 

What  is  it  ?     Ah,  the  weight  on  both  your  hearts 
Is  not  what  Saladin  would  have  with  me. 

DAJA. 

You  cannot  blame  her  for  it.     At  the  moment 
Your  converse  with  him  grew  more  intimate, 
The  Sultan's  message  drove  .us  from  the  window. 

NATHAN. 
Tell  her  she  may  expect  him  every  moment. 

DAJA. 
In  truth  ? 

NATHAN. 

May  I  depend  upon  you,  Daja  ? 
Be  on  your  guard,  I  pray  you.     You  will  ne'er 
Have  reason  to  repent  it.     E'en  your  conscience 
Will  find  account  in  it.     Disturb  me  not 
In  what  I  plan.     In  all  you  ask  and  tell, 
Use  caution  and  reserve. 

DAJA. 

How  can  you  think 

Of  such  a  thing  again  !     I  go  :  go  you  ! 
For  see,  there  surely  comes  from  Saladin 
A  second  messenger — your  dervise,  Hafi.         [Goes. 


86  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SCENE    IX. 
NATHAN.     AL-HAFI. 

AL-HAFI. 
Ha,  ha  !     I'm  just  in  search  of  you  again. 

NATHAN. 
Is  it  so  urgent  ?     What's  his  will  with  me  ? 

AL-HAFI. 
Whose  ? 

NATHAN. 

Saladin's. — I  come  ;  I  come. 

AL-HAFI. 

To  whom  ? 
To  Saladin  ? 

NATHAN. 
Did  Saladin  not  send  you  ? 

AL-HAFI. 
No.     Has  he  sent  before  ? 

NATHAN. 

He  has  indeed. 

AL-HAFI. 
It  is  decided  then. 

NATHAN. 
What  ?     What's  decided  ? 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  87 

AL-HAFI. 

That —  I  am  not  to  blame ;  God  knows  I'm  not. 
What  tales  have  I  not  told  of  you,  what  lies, 
To  avert  it  ? 

NATHAN. 
What  to  avert  ?     What  is  decided  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

That  you're  his  treasurer.     I  pity  you. 
At  least  I'll  not  stay  by  to  see.     I  go  ; 
I  go  this  hour.     You  know  already  whither, 
And  know  the  way.     Have  you  commands  for  me 
Upon  the  road  ?     Speak  !  I  am  at  your  service. 
But  order  nothing  more  than  can  be  carried 
Upon  a  naked  back.     Speak  quick  !     I'm  off ! 

NATHAN. 

Bethink  yourself,  Al-Hafi  ;  pray,  consider 
That  I  know  nothing  yet.      What  means  your  talk  ? 

AL-HAFI. 
Best  take  the  bags  with  you  at  once. 

NATHAN. 

The  bags  ? 

AL-HAFI. 
The  gold  you're  to  advance  to  Saladin. 

NATHAN. 
So  that  is  all  ? 


88  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

AL-HAFI. 

Shall  I  look  on  and  see 
How  he  will  drain  your  marrow  day  by  day, 
Down  to  the  very  toes ;  look  on  and  see 
How  his  extravagance  will  borrow,  borrow, 
And  borrow  from  those  barns  ne'er  emptied  yet 
By  your  wise  charities,  till  the  poor  mouse 
That  had  its  birth  there  shall  be  starved  to  death  ? 
Do  you  imagine  he  who  needs  your  gold 
Will  take  your  counsel  also  ?     He  take  counsel ! 
Took  Saladin  e'er  counsel  ?     Hear  what  happened 
When  last  I  went  to  him. 

NATHAN. 
Well  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

I  arrived 

When  Sittah  and  himself  had  been  at  chess. 
His  sister  plays  not  badly.     There  the  game 
That  Saladin  had  given  up  for  lost 
Was  standing  on  the  board.     I  glanced  at  it, 
And  saw  that  it  was  far  from  lost. 

NATHAN. 

Aha! 
A  great  discovery  for  you. 

AL-HAFI. 

His  king 

But  needed  to  advance  upon  the  pawn 
Against  her  check.     If  I  could  only  show  you  ! 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  89 

NATHAN. 
I'll  take  your  word  for  it. 

AL-HAFI 

For  so  the  rook 

Were  brought  into  the  field,  and  she  were  lost. 
All  that  I  wished  to  show,  and  called  him. — Think  ! 

NATHAN. 
He  was  not  of  your  mind  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

He  would  not  listen  ; 
Contemptuously  overturned  the  board. 

NATHAN. 
Is't  possible  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

And  said  he  would  be  mated. 
He  would  be  mated  !     Do  you  call  that  playing  ? 

NATHAN. 
Hardly  indeed  ;  'tis  playing  with  the  game. 

AL-HAFI. 
And  that  for  no  mean  stake. 

NATHAN. 

Gold  here,  gold  there  ! 
That  is  the  least.     But  not  to  listen  to  you 
8* 


9<D  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

Upon  a  point  so  weighty — not  to  listen, 
And  not  admire  your  eagle  eye — that,  that 
Cries  out  for  vengeance — does  it  not  ? 

AL-HAFI. 

Nay,  nay; 

I  do  but  tell  you  this  to  show  the  man. 
I'm  at  the  end  of  all  my  patience  with  him. 
Here  must  I  run  about  'mongst  dirty  Moors, 
And  ask  who'll  lend  him.      I  who  for  myself 
Have  never  begged,  must  borrow  now  for  others. 
To  borrow  scarce  is  better  than  to  beg  ; 
As  lending,  lending  upon  interest, 
Scarce  better  is  than  stealing.     With  my  patrons 
Beside  the  Ganges  have  I  need  of  neither, 
And  need  not  to  become  the  tool  of  either. 
Beside  the  Ganges  only  are  there  men. 
Here  none  but  you  is  worthy  of  the  life 
Beside  the  Ganges.     Will  you  come  with  me  ? 
Leave  all  your  trumpery  at  once  for  him, 
And  so  have  done  with  it.     By  small  degrees 
He'd  have  it  out  of  you.     Thus  would  the  torment 
At  once  be  ended.     I  will  get  your  delk.  * 
Come,  come ! 

NATHAN. 

I've  thought  of  that  as  a  reserve. 
Yet  I'll  consider  it,  Al-Hafi.     Wait — 

*  The  garb  of  a  dervise. 


NATHAN   THE   WISH.  91 

AL-HAFI. 

Consider  it !     No,  no ;  'tis  not  a  matter 
To  be  considered. 

NATHAN. 

Only  till  I've  seen 
The  Sultan — only  till  I've  said  farewell — 

AL-HAFI. 

He  who  considers  does  but  seek  excuse 
For  lack  of  courage.     Who  cannot  resolve 
Upon  the  instant  for  himself  to  live, 
Remains  forevermore  the  slave  of  others. 
Do  as  you  will ! — Farewell ! — As  you  think  best ! 
Here  lies  my  road,  there  yours. 

NATHAN. 

Al-Hafi,  stay  ! 
You'll  settle  your  accounts  before  you  go? 

AL-HAFI. 

Oh,  pshaw  !     My  property  is  not  worth  counting. 
And  for  my  debts — why,  Sittah  or  yourself 
Must  be  my  bail.     Farewell !  [Goes. 

NATHAN. 

I'll  be  your  bail. 

Wild,  noble,  good — how  shall  I  call  him  ?     Truly, 
The  genuine  beggar  is  the  genuine  king. 


92  NATHAN    THE    WISE. 


ACT    THIRD. 


SCENE    I. 
Room  in  Nathan's  house,      RECHA.     DAJA. 

RECHA. 

Tell  me  my  father's  words  again,  dear  Daja. 
He  said  I  might  expect  him  every  moment. 
Does  it  not  sound  as  if  he'd  soon  be  here  ? 
And  yet  how  many  moments  have  gone  by 
Since  then  !     Ah  well,  who  thinks  of  them,  the  past? 
I'll  only  live  in  every  coming  moment. 
The  one  that  brings  him  must  be  here  at  last. 

DAJA. 

Oh  that  unlucky  message  from  the  Sultan  ! 
Else  Nathan  would  have  brought  him  in  that  instant. 

RECHA. 

And  came  he  now,  this  instant ;  were  the  warmest, 
The  fondest  of  my  wishes  now  fulfilled — 
What  then — what  then  ? 

DAJA. 

What  then  ?     Then  should  I  hope 
My  warmest  wish  might  also  be  fulfilled. 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  93 

RECHA. 

What  would  supply  the  place  within  my  breast, 
Which  swells  no  longer,  uninspired  by  one 
Supreme  desire  ?    What  ?    Nothing  ?    Ah,  I  tremble. 

DAJA. 

My  wish  shall  take  the  place  of  yours  fulfilled — 
To  know  you  are  in  Europe,  and  in  hands 
Deserving  of  you. 

RECHA. 

You're  mistaken,  Daja. 
The  motive  that  inspires  that  wish  in  you 
Prevents  it  in  myself.     Your  fatherland 
Allures  you  ;  and  shall  mine,  shall  mine  not  hold 

me? 

Shall  images  of  home,  unfaded  yet 
Within  your  soul,  have  greater  power  than  home, 
With  all  that  I  can  see,  and  touch,  and  hear  ? 

DAJA. 

Resist  with  all  your  will — the  ways  of  Heaven 
Are  still  the  ways  of  Heaven.     How  if  through  him 
Who  saved  your  life,  his  God  for  whom  he  fights 
Would  lead  you  to  the  land  and  to  the  people 
For  which  your  birth  designed  you  ? 

RECHA. 

Daja,  Daja  ! 

What  mean  such  words?     What  strange  conceits 
you  have  ! 


94  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

"His  God — for  whom  he  fights!"     Can  God  be 

owned  ? 

What  sort  of  God  were  he  whom  man  could  own — 
Who  needs  defenders  ?     How  can  any  tell 
The   spot  of  earth   for  which   his  birth   designed 

him, 

If  not  the  spot  on  which  it  placed  him  ? — Daja, 
What  if  my  father  heard  such  words  from  you  ! 
What  has  he  done  that  you  should  always  paint 
My  happiness  so  far  removed  from  him  ? 
What  has  he  done  that  you  desire  to  mix 
The  seeds  of  understanding  he  has  sown 
So  pure  within  my  soul,  with  weeds  or  flowers 
From  your  own  distant  land  ?      You  know,  dear 

Daja, 

He'll  none  of  your  gay  flowers  upon  my  soil. 
I,  too,  confess  I  feel  my  soil  is  w-eakened, 
Exhausted  by  your  flowers,  e'en  though  they  grace  it ; 
And  in  their  sweet,  intoxicating  fragrance 
I  grow  bewildered,  giddy.     You,  dear  Daja, 
Are  more  accustomed  to  it.     No  reproach 
Upon  the  stronger  nerves  that  can  endure  it  ; 
Only  it  suits  not  me. — Your  angel  now  ; — 
My  head  was  well-nigh  turned  with  it.     I  blush 
E'en  now,  before  my  father,  at  such  nonsense. 

DAJA. 

Nonsense  !     As  if  here  only  "there  were  sense  ! 
If  I  might  only  speak  ! 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  95 

RECHA. 

And  may  you  not  ? 

When  was  I  not  all  ear  to  hear  you  tell 
Of  Christian  heroes  often  as  you  would  ? 
When  gave  I  not  their  deeds  my  admiration, 
Their  sufferings  my  tears  ?     True,  their  belief 
I  never  held  their  greatest  heroism  ; 
But  all  the  more  consoling  was  the  lesson 
That  faith  in  God  depends  not  on  the  views 
We  entertain  of  Him.     That  has  my  father 
So  often  told  us  ;  and  yourself,  dear  Daja, 
Have  oft  confirmed  it.     Why  desire  alone 
To  undermine  what  both  have  helped  to  build  ? — 
But  'twere  not  well  that  we  should  meet  our  friend 
With  talk  like  this.     And  yet  for  me  it  is. 
To  me  it  matters  infinitely  whether — 
Hark,  Daja  !     Comes  not  some  one  to  the  door? 
If  it  were  he  !     Hark,  hark  ! 


SCENE    II. 

RECHA,  DAJA,  and  the  TEMPLAR,  for  whom  the  door  is 
opened,  with  the  words — "Be  pleased  to  enter." 

RECHA  (starts  back,  recovers  herself,  and  is  about  to 
throw  herself  at  his  fee  f), 

'Tis  he — 'tis  my  preserver  !     Ah  ! 


96  XATHAN  THE   WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

Thus  late 
I  came  to  shun  a  scene  like  this  ;  and  yet — 

RECHA. 

Here  at  the  feet  of  this  proud  man,  once  more 
Will  I  give  thanks  to  God,  — not  to  the  man. 
The  man  desires  no  thanks, — desires  as  little 
As  does  the  water-bucket,  kept  so  busy 
In  putting  out  the  flames.     Twas  filled  and  emptied 
In  total  apathy.     So  with  the  man. 
Like  that,  he  was  but  thrust  into  the  fire  ; 
By  accident  I  fell  into  his  arms  ; 
There  lay  by  accident  within  his  arms, 
E'en  as  a  spark  might  lie  upon  his  mantle, 
Till  something — what  I  know  not — threw  us  both 
Beyond  the  flames.     What  cause  for  thanks  in  that? 
Wine  urges  men  to  other  deeds  in  Europe. — 
'Twas  but  a  Templar's  duty.     They,  like  dogs 
Of  somewhat  higher  training,  have  to  fetch 
From  fire  as  well  as  water. 

v  - 

TEMPLAR  (who  has  been  gazing  on  her  with  surprise 
and  disquiet). 

Daja,  Daja  ! 

If  moments  of  distress  and  bitterness 
Had  made  me  harsh  with  you,  why  bring  to  her 
Each  foolish  word  that  might  escape  my  lips  ? 
'Twas  taking  a  too  cruel  vengeance,  Daja. 
Henceforth  I  hope  for  kindlier  intercession. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  97 

DAJA. 

Scarce  think  I,  knight,  these  little  stings  of  yours, 
Flung  at  her  heart,  have  harmed  your  cause  with  her. 

RECHA. 

Had  you  a  grief,  and  were  you  of  your  grief 
Less  generous  than  of  life  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Kind,  gracious  maiden  ! 
How  is  my  soul  divided  betwixt  eye 
And  ear  !     Not  this  the  maiden  that  I  saved — 
It  cannot,  cannot  be  ;  for  who  had  known  her 
And  not  have  saved  her  ?  who  would  wait  for  me  ? 
'Tis  true — that  fear — deforms. 

\He  pauses,  lost  in  contemplation  of  her. 


To  be  the  same. 


RECHA. 

Yet  I  find  you 


\Another  pause,  until,  to  rouse  him  from  his  abstrac 
tion,  she  continues^ 

But  you  must  tell  us,  knight, 
Where  you  have  been  so  long.     I  almost  might 
Ask,  too,  where  you  are  now  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

I  am — where  I 
Perhaps  ought  not  to  be. 


98  NATHAN    THE    WISE. 

RECHA. 

And  where  have  been  ? 

Also,  perhaps,  where  you  should  not  have  been  ? 
That  is  not  well. 

TEMPLAR. 

On — on — which  is  the  mountain  ? 
On  Sinai. 

RECHA. 

Sinai  ?     Ah,  I'm  glad  ;  for  now 
Can  I  learn  surely  if  'tis  true — 

TEMPLAR. 

What — what  ? 

If  it  be  true  that  there  the  spot  is  shown 
Where  in  God's  presence  Moses  stood,  when — 

RECHA. 

No; 

Not  that.   Where'er  he  stood,  'twas  in  God's  presence. 
Besides,  I  know  enough  of  that  already. 
I  only  wanted  you  to  tell  me  if — 
If  it  were  true  there's  much  less  weariness 
In  climbing  up  that  mountain  than  descending. 
With  all  the  mountains  I  have  ever  climbed 
'Twas  just  the  contrary. — Well,  knight,  how  now? 
You  turn  away — you  will  not  look  at  me  ! 

TEMPLAR. 
I  would  the  better  hear  you. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  99 

RECHA. 

You  would  hide 

Your  smiles  at  my  simplicity, — your  smiles 
That  no  more  worthy  question  can  I  ask 
About  that  holy  mountain, — would  you  not? 

TEMPLAR. 

Then  must  I  look  again  into  your  eyes. 
Ah,  now  you  cast  them  down — conceal  your  smiles  ! 
When  I  would  read  in  features  full  of  riddles 
What  I  distinctly  hear,  will  you  disguise  them  ? 
Ah,  Recha,  truly  said  he,  "Only  know  her  1" 

RECHA. 
Who  said — of  whom — to  you  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Your  father's  words 
To  me  in  speaking  of  you — "  Only  know  her  1" 

DAJA. 
Did  I  not  say  it  ?     Did  not  also  I  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

But  where  is  he,  your  father  ?     Stays  he  yet 
With  Saladin  ? 

RECHA. 
No  doubt. 

TEMPLAR. 

So  long  ?     Ah  no  : 
Forgetful  that  I  am  !  he's  there  no  longer ; 


100  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

But  by  the  convent  yonder  waits  for  me. 
So,  I  am  sure,  it  was  agreed  between  us. 
Permit  me,  I  will  go,  will  bring  him. 

DAJA. 

Nay  ; 
Leave  that  to  me.     Stay,  stay,  knight !     I  will  bring 

him 
Without  delay. 

TEMPLAR. 

Not  so,  not  so.     Myself, 
Not  you,  is  he  expecting.     And,  besides, 
He  may — who  knows  ? — he  may  with  Saladin — 
You  do  not  know  the  Sultan  ! — may  perchance 
Have  met  with  difficulties.     There  is  danger, 
Believe  me,  there  is  danger  if  I  stay. 

RECHA. 
What  danger  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Danger  to  myself,  to  you, 
To  him,  unless  I  quickly,  quickly  go.  [Goes. 


SCENE    III. 
RECHA  and  DAJA. 

RECHA. 

What  means  it,  Daja  ?     Why  so  quick  to  leave  us  ? 
What  sudden  thought  could  thus  have  urged  him  off? 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  IOI 

DAJA. 
Let  be — let  be.     I  hold  it  no  bad  sign. 

RECHA. 
A  sign — of  what  ? 

DAJA. 

Something's  astir  within  : 
'Tis  boiling,  and  must  not  be  let  boil  over. 
Let  him  alone.  'Tis  your  turn  now. 

RECHA. 

My  turn  ? 
You're  unintelligible,  like  himself. 

DAJA. 

Soon  the  disquietude  he  made  you  suffer 
You  can  requite  him.     Only,  show  yourself 
Not  too  severe,  too  unrelenting  towards  him. 

RECHA. 
Whereof  you  speak,  you  must  know  best  yourself. 

DAJA. 
So  calm  again  ? 

RECHA. 
I  am  ;  indeed  I  am. 

DAJA. 

Confess  at  least  that  his  disquietude 
Rejoices  you,  and  that  to  it  you  owe 
Whate'er  you  have  of  calm. 

Q* 


102  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

RECHA. 

Not  consciously. 

The  most  I  could  confess  would  be  my  wonder 
That  suddenly  the  storm  within  my  heart 
Should  be  succeeded  by  so  deep  a  stillness. 
His  whole  appearance,  conversation,  bearing — 

DAJA. 

So  soon  have  satisfied  ? 

RECHA. 
Not  satisfied. 
No  ;  far  from  that — 

DAJA. 
But  stilled  your  hungry  longing  ? 

RECHA. 
If  you  will  have  it  so. 

DAJA. 
Not  I  indeed. 

RECHA. 

He  will  be  always  dear  to  me,  far  dearer 
Than  life  itself;  though  at  his  name  my  pulse 
No  longer  varies,  and  my  heart  no  longer 
Beats  harder,  faster  when  I  think  of  him. — 
What  nonsense  am  I  talking  ?     Come,  dear  Daja, 
We'll  seek  again  the  window  toward  the  palms. 

DAJA. 
'Tis  not  then  wholly  stilled,  that  hungry  longing. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  103 

RECHA. 

Once  more  shall  I  behold  the  palms  again  ; 
Not  only  him  beneath. 

DAJA. 

This  coldness  then 
Portends  new  fever. 

RECHA. 

Coldness  ?     I'm  not  cold. 
With  equal  pleasure  do  I  look,  though  calmly. 


SCENE    IV. 
Audience  hall  in  Saladins palace.    SALADIN.    SITTAH. 

SALADIN  (speaking  to  some  one  without  as  he  enters). 

Admit  the  Jew  the  moment  he  arrives. 
He's  not  disposed  to  hurry,  it  would  seem. 

SITTAH. 
He  was  not  there  perhaps,  in  instant  reach. 

SALADIN. 
O  sister,  sister  ! 

SITTAH. 

One  would  say  a  battle 
Were  threatening  you. 


IO4  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

SALADIN. 

One  to  be  waged  with  weapons 
I  never  learned  to  use.     I  must  dissemble  ; 
I  must  lay  snares  ;  must  be  upon  my  guard  ; 
Must  walk  on  ice.     When  could  I  ever  that  ? 
Where  learned  I  ever  that  ?     And  all  for  what — 
For  what  ?     To  fish  for  money — all  for  money  1 
To  frighten  money  from  a  Jew — for  money  ! 
To  such  mean  shifts  am  I  reduced  at  last 
To  get  the  least  of  trifles  ! 

SITTAH. 

Every  trifle, 
Unduly  scorned,  will  be  revenged,  dear  brother. 

SALADIN. 

Alas,  too  true.     But  now  suppose  this  Jew 
Should  be  the  wise  good  man  the  dervise  once 
Described  him. 

SITTAH. 

If  he  should  !     Where  lies  the  harm  ? 
The  usurious,  careful,  timid  Jew  alone 
The  snare  is  laid  for — not  the  wise,  good  man. 
He  without  snares  were  ours.     What  joy  to  hear 
How  such  a  man  would  extricate  himself ! 
The  downright  force  that  would  the  meshes  break, 
Or  crafty  cunning  that  would  disentangle — 
This  pleasure  will  be  all  to  boot. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  105 

SALADIN. 

That's  true. 
It  were  a  joy  indeed. 

SITTAH. 

There  can  arise 

Naught  further  to  disturb  you.     Is  he  one 
Of  many — just  a  Jew  like  any  Jew  ? 
To  such  a  one  why  be  ashamed  to  seem 
What  he  believes  all  men  to  be  ?     Nay,  more  ; 
Who  should  appear  aught  other,  were  to  him 
A  fool,  a  dolt. 

SALADIN. 

I  must  act  meanly,  therefore, 
Lest  I  be  meanly  thought  of  by  the  mean. 

SITTAH. 

If  mean  you  call  it,  dealing  with  each  thing 
According  to  its  nature. 

SALADIN. 

What  contrivance 
Of  woman's  brain  will  she  not  palliate  ! 

SITTAH. 
Not  palliate  ? 

SALADIN. 

My  clumsy  hands,  I  fear, 

Will  break  this  keen  and  subtle  thing.     It  needs 
To  be  conducted  as  'twas  first  conceived, 


IO6  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

With  all  dexterity  and  cunning.     Well, 
I  can  but  try  !     I'll  dance  as  best  I  may : 
And  yet  would  rather  it  were  worse  then  better. 

SlTTAH. 

Trust  not  yourself  too  little.     Do  but  will ! 
I'll  answer  for  you.     See  how  men  like  you 
Delight  to  make  us  think  that  with  the  sword, 
The  sword  alone,  you  have  achieved  so  much  ! 
The  lion  is  ashamed,  if  with  the  fox 
He've  hunted — of  the  fox,  not  of  the  craft. 

SALADIN. 

And  how  you  women  like  to  bring  men  down 
To  your  own  level !  Go,  go  ;  leave  me  now  ; 
I  know  my  lesson. 

SITTAH. 
Leave  you— must  I  go  ? 

SALADIN. 
You  had  not  thought  to  stay  ? 

SITTAH. 

If  not  to  stay — 
Not  in  your  sight — yet  in  the  adjoining  room. 

SALADIN. 

That  you  may  listen  ?     If  I'm  to  succeed, 
That  neither,  sister. — Go  !  the  curtain  stirs. 
He  comes  ! — Remain  not  near  ;  I'll  see  to  it. 

[As  she  leaves  by  one  door,  Nathan  enters  by  another, 
and  Saladin  seats  himself.  ] 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  1OJ 

SCENE    V. 
SALADIN  and  NATHAN. 

SALADIN. 
Come  nearer,  Jew,  come  nearer  ! — without  fear  ! 

NATHAN 
'Tis  for  your  foes  to  fear  ! 

SALADIN. 

Your  name  is  Nathan  ? 

NATHAN. 
Yes. 

SALADIN. 
The  wise  Nathan  ? 

NATHAN. 
No. 

SALADIN. 

Ah !  well,  you  may 
Not  call  yourself  so,  but  the  people  do. 

NATHAN. 
May  be.     The  people  ! 

SALADIN. 

Think  you  I  despise 

The  people's  voice  ?      Long  have  I  wished  to  know 
The  man  they  call  the  wise. 


IO8  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

NATHAN. 

If  but  in  jest 

They  call  him  so  ;  if  to  the  people's  thought 
The  wise  is  but  the  prudent,  and  the  prudent 
But  he  who  understands  his  own  advantage  ? 

SALADIN. 
His  true  advantage  mean  you  ? 

NATHAN. 

Then  indeed 

The  selfish  were  the  wise  ;  then  wise  and  prudent 
Would  be  indeed  the  same. 

SALADIN. 

I  hear  you  prove 

What  you  would  fain  deny.     Man's  true  advantage, 
Mistaken  by  the  people,  is  known  to  you  ; 
Or  has  been  sought  by  you  ;  has  been  the  theme 
Of  your  reflections  ;  that  alone  makes  wise. 

NATHAN. 
Which  every  man  esteems  himself  to  be. 

SALADIN. 

Enough  of  modesty  ;  it  nauseates 
To  hear  but  that,  when  we  expect  dry  reason. 

[Starts  up. 

Let  us  to  business.     But  be  honest,  Jew, — 
Be  honest ! 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  log 

NATHAN. 

Sultan,  I  will  surely  serve  you, 
In  manner  to  deserve  your  further  custom. 

SALADIN. 
How  serve  me? 

NATHAN. 

You  shall  have  the  best  of  goods, 
And  at  the  lowest  price. 

SALADIN. 

What  speak  you  of — 
Your  merchandise  ?     My  sister  presently 
Will  do  the  chaffering  with  you.      (That  for  her, 
The  listener  !)    I've  no  business  with  the  merchant. 

NATHAN. 

Then  must  you  wish  to  learn  what  on  my  way 
I  may  have  seen,  encountered  of  the  foe, 
Who  is  astir  again  ;  if  openly — 

SALADIN. 

Nor  yet  is  that  my  present  business  with  you. 
Of  that  I  know  already  all  I  need. — 
In  short — 

NATHAN. 
Command  me,  Sultan. 

SALADIN. 

I  desire 
Instruction  of  you  in  another  matter — 


IIO  NATHAN    THE    WISE. 

In  quite  another. — Since  so  great  your  wisdom, 
I  pray  you  tell  me  what  belief,  what  law 
Has  most  commended  itself  to  you. 

NATHAN. 

Sultan, 
I  am  a  Jew. 

SALADIN. 

And  I  a  Mussulman. 

Between  us  is  the  Christian.     Now,  but  one 
Of  all  these  three  religions  can  be  true. 
A  man  like  you  stands  not  where  accident 
Of  birth  has  cast  him.     If  he  so  remain, 
It  is  from  judgment,  reasons,  choice  of  best. 
Impart  to  me  your  judgment ;  let  me  hear 
The  reasons  I've  no  time  to  seek  myself. 
Communicate,  in  confidence  of  course, 
The  choice  you  have  arrived  at  through  those  reasons, 
That  I  may  make  it  mine. — You  are  surprised — 
You  weigh  me  with  your  glance  ! — May  be  that 

Sultan 

Had  ne'er  such  whim  before  ;  which  yet  I  deem 
Not  unbecoming  in  a  Sultan.     Speak — 
Your  answer  !     Or  a  moment  would  you  have 
To  think  upon  it  ?     Good  ;  I  grant  it  you. 
(Can  she  be  listening  ?     I'll  surprise  her  then, 
And  learn  if  I've  done  well.)     But  quick,  be  quick 
With  your  reflections.      I'll  not  tarry  long. 

[Goes  into  the  adjoining  room,  as  Stiiah  had  done. 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  HI 

SCENE    VI. 
NATHAN  (alone.} 

Hm  ! — extraordinary — what  a  dilemma  ! 
What  will  the  Sultan  have  ?     I  am  prepared 
For  money,  and  he  asks  for  truth — for  truth  ! 
And  wants  it  hard  and  bare,  as  truth  were  coin. 
Yes  ;  if  an  ancient  coin  which  went  by  weight, 
I  grant  you  ;  but  this  coinage  of  to-day 
That's  counted  down,  and  has  no  other  value 
Except  the  stamp  upon  it ; — that  she's  not. 
Can  truth  be  swept  into  the  head  like  gold 
Into  a  sack  ?     Which  here  is  most  the  Jew — 
Is't  I  or  he  ? — But  stay  ;  what  if  the  Sultan 
Were  not  in  earnest  in  his  search  for  truth  ? 
Nay ;  the  suspicion  he  could  use  the  truth 
But  for  a  snare,  would  be  too  mean.     Too  mean  ? 
Is  aught  too  mean  for  princes  ? — Surely,  surely. 
With  what  abruptness  made  he  his  attack  ! 
One  knocks  and  listens,  if  one  comes  as  friend. — 
I'll  be  upon  my  guard  with  him.     But  how  ? 
To  play  the  bigot  Jew  avails  not  here  : 
Still  less  no  Jew  at  all.     For  if  no  Jew, 
Well  might  he  ask,  why  not  a  Mussulman  ? — 
I  have  it, — that  will  save  me ;  for  with  fables 
Not  children  only  can  be  entertained. 
He  comes  :  well,  let  him  come  ! 


J  J  2  NATHAN    THE    WISE. 

SCENE   VII. 
SALADIN  and  NATHAN. 

SALADIN. 

(The  coast  is  clear. ) 

I'm  not  returned  too  soon  for  you,  I  hope ; 
You've  brought  your  meditations  to  a  close  ? 
Speak  them  ;  no  soul  can  hear  us. 

NATHAN. 

I  am  willing 
The  world  should  hear  us. 

SALADIN. 

Nathan  is  so  sure 

Of  his  good  cause  ?     Ah,  that  I  call  a  sage  ; 
Never  to  hide  the  truth  ;  to  stake  on  it 
Your  all ;  your  soul  and  body,  goods  and  life. 

NATHAN. 
When  necessary  it  shall  be,  and  useful. 

SALADIN. 

With  right  I  hope  henceforth  to  bear  my  title, 
Reformer  of  the  world  and  of  the  law. 

NATHAN. 

A  noble  title  certainly.     Yet,  Sultan, 
Ere  I  bestow  my  perfect  confidence, 
Permit  me  to  relate  a  story  to  you. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  113 

SALADIN. 

Why  not  ?     I  ever  have  been  fond  of  stones 
Well  told. 

NATHAN. 
The  telling  well  I  do  not  promise. 

SALADIN. 
Again  so  proudly  modest ! — Come,  your  story  ! 

NATHAN. 

In  gray  antiquity  there  lived  a  man 
In  Eastern  lands,  who  had  received  a  ring 
Of  priceless  worth  from  a  beloved  hand. 
Its  stone,  an  opal,  flashed  a  hundred  colors, 
And  had  the  secret  power  of  giving  favor, 
In  sight  of  God  and  man,  to  him  who  wore  it 
With  a  believing  heart.     What  wonder  then 
This  Eastern  man  would  never  put  the  ring 
Off  from  his  finger,  and  should  so  provide 
That  to  his  house  it  be  preserved  forever  ? 
Such  was  the  case.     Unto  the  best-beloved 
Among  his  sons  he  left  the  ring,  enjoining 
That  he  in  turn  bequeath  it  to  the  son 
Who  should  be  dearest ;  and  the  dearest  ever, 
In  virtue  of  the  ring,  without  regard 
To  birth,  be  of  the  house  the  prince  and  head. 
You  understand  me,  Sultan  ? 

SALADIN. 

Yes  ;  go  on  ! 
10* 


114  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

NATHAN. 

From  son  to  son  the  ring  descending,  came 
To  one,  the  sire  of  three  ;  of  whom  all  three 
Were  equally  obedient ;  whom  all  three 
He  therefore  must  with  equal  love  regard. 
And  yet  from  time  to  time  now  this,  now  that, 
And  now  the  third, — as  each  alone  was  by, 
The  others  not  dividing  his  fond  heart, — 
Appeared  to  him  the  worthiest  of  the  ring  ; 
Which  then,  with  loving  weakness,  he  would  promise 
To  each  in  turn.     Thus  it  continued  long. 
But  he  must  die  ;  and  then  the  loving  father 
Was  sore  perplexed.     It  grieved  him  thus  to  wound 
Two  faithful  sons  who  trusted  in  his  word  ; 
But  what  to  do  ?     In  secrecy  he  calls 
An  artist  to  him,  and  commands  of  him 
Two  other  rings,  the  pattern  of  his  own  ; 
And  bids  him  neither  cost  nor  pains  to  spare 
To  make  them  like,  precisely  like  to  that. 
The  artist's  skill  succeeds.     He  brings  the  rings, 
And  e'en  the  father  cannot  tell  his  own. 
Relieved  and  joyful,  summons  he  his  sons, 
Each  by  himself;  to  each  one  by  himself 
He  gives  his  blessing,  and  his  ring — and  dies. — 
You  listen,  Sultan  ? 

SALADIN  (who,  somewhat  perplexed,  has  turned  away), 

Yes ;  I  hear,  I  hear. 
But  bring  your  story  to  an  end. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  115 

NATHAN. 

Tis  ended  ; 

For  what  remains  would  tell  itself.     The  father 
Was  scarcely  dead,  when  each  brings  forth  his  ring, 
And  claims  the  headship.     Questioning  ensues, 
Strife,  and  appeal  to  law  ;  but  all  in  vain. 
The  genuine  ring  was  not  to  be  distinguished  ; — 

[After  a  pause,  in  which  he  awaits  the  Sullaris  answer. 
As  undistinguishable  as  with  us 
The  true  religion. 

SALADIN. 
That  your  answer  to  me  ? 

NATHAN. 

But  my  apology  for  not  presuming 
Between  the  rings  to  judge,  which  with  design 
The  father  ordered  undistinguishable. 

SALADIN. 

The  rings  ? — You  trifle  with  me.     The  religions 
I  named  to  you  are  plain  to  be  distinguished — 
E'en  in  the  dress,  e'en  in  the  food  and  drink. 

NATHAN. 

In  all  except  the  grounds  on  which  they  rest. 
Are  they  not  founded  all  on  history, 
Traditional  or  written  ?     History 
Can  be  accepted  only  upon  trust. 
Whom  now  are  we  the  least  inclined  to  doubt  ? 
Not  our  own  people — our  own  blood  ;  not  those 


Il6  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

Who  from  our  childhood  up  have  proved  their  love ; 
Ne'er  disappointed,  save  when  disappointment 
Was  wholesome  to  us  ?     Shall  my  ancestors 
Receive  less  faith  from  me,  than  yours  from  you  ? 
Reverse  it :  Can  I  ask  you  to  belie 
Your  fathers,  and  transfer  your  faith  to  mine  ? 
Or  yet,  again,  holds  not  the  same  with  Christians  ? 

SALADIN. 
(By  heaven, the  man  is  right !    I've  naught  to  answer.) 

NATHAN. 

Return  we  to  our  rings.     As  I  have  said, 
The  sons  appealed  to  law,  and  each  took  oath 
Before  the  judge  that  from  his  father's  hand 
He  had  the  ring, — as  was  indeed  the  truth  ; 
And  had  received  his  promise  long  before, 
One  day  the  ring,  with  all  its  privileges, 
Should  be  his  own, — as  was  not  less  the  truth. 
The  father  could  not  have  been  false  to  him, 
Each  one  maintained  ;  and  rather  than  allow 
Upon  the  memory  of  so  dear  a  father 
Such  stain  to  rest,  he  must  against  his  brothers, 
Though  gladly  he  would  nothing  but  the  best 
Believe  of  them,  bring  charge  of  treachery  ; 
Means  would  he  find  the  traitors  to  expose, 
And  be  revenged  on  them. 

SALADIN. 

And  now  the  judge  ? 

I  long  to  hear  what  words  you  give  the  judge. 
Go  on  ! 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  llj 

NATHAN. 

Thus  spoke  the  judge  :  Produce  your  father 
At  once  before  me,  else  from  my  tribunal 
Do  I  dismiss  you.     Think  you  I  am  here 
To  guess  your  riddles  ?     Either  would  you  wait 
Until  the  genuine  ring  shall  speak  ? — But  hold  ! 
A  magic  power  in  the  true  ring  resides, 
As  I  am  told,  to  make  its  wearer  loved — 
Pleasing  to  God  and  man.     Let  that  decide. 
For  in  the  false  can  no  such  virtue  lie. 
Which  one  among  you,  then,  do  two  love  best  ? 
Speak  !      Are  you   silent  ?      Work   the   rings   but 

backward, 

Not  outward?     Loves  each  one  himself  the  best? 
Then  cheated  cheats  are  all  of  you  !     The  rings 
All  three  are  false.     The  genuine  ring  was  lost  ; 
And  to  conceal,  supply  the  loss,  the  father 
Made  three  in  place  of  one. 

SALADIN. 

Oh,  excellent ! 

NATHAN. 

Go,  therefore,  said  the  judge,  unless  my  counsel 
You'd  have  in  place  of  sentence.     It  were  this  : 
Accept  the  case  exactly  as  it  stands. 
Had  each  his  ring  directly  from  his  father, 
Let  each  believe  his  own  is  genuine. 
'Tis  possible  your  father  would  no  longer 
His  house  to  one  ring's  tyranny  subject ; 


Il8  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

And  certain  that  all  three  of  you  he  loved, 
Loved  equally,  since  two  he  would  not  humble, 
That  one  might  be  exalted.     Let  each  one 
To  his  unbought,  impartial  love  aspire ; 
Each  with  the  others  vie  to  bring  to  light 
The  virtue  of  the  stone  within  his  ring  ; 
Let  gentleness,  a  hearty  love  of  peace, 
Beneficence,  and  perfect  trust  in  God, 
Come  to  its  help.     Then  if  the  jewel's  power 
Among  your  children's  children  be  revealed, 
I  bid  you  in  a  thousand,  thousand  years 
Again  before  this  bar.     A  wiser  man 
Than  I  shall  occupy  this  seat,  and  speak. 
Go  ! — Thus  the  modest  judge  dismissed  them. 

SALADIN. 

God! 

NATHAN. 

If  therefore,  Saladin,  you  feel  yourself 
That  promised,  wiser  man — 

SALADIN  (rushing  to  him,  and  seizing  his  hand,  which 
he  holds  to  the  end). 

I?    Dust!— I?    Naught! 
OGod! 

NATHAN. 
What  moves  you,  Sultan  ? 

SALADIN. 

Nathan,  Nathan  ! 
Not  ended  are  the  thousand,  thousand  years 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  119 

Your  judge  foretold  ;  not  mine  to  claim  his  seat. 
Go,  go  ! — But  be  my  friend. 

NATHAN. 

No  further  orders 
Has  Saladin  for  me  ? 


' 


SALADIN. 
None. 

NATHAN. 
None? 


SALADIN. 

No,  none. 
Why  ask  ? 

'  •  '-.       NATHAN. 
An  opportunity  I  sought 
To  proffer  a  request. 

SALADIN. 
Needs  a  request 
An  opportunity  ?     Speak  ! 

NATHAN. 

I'm  returned 

From  distant  journeyings  to  collect  my  debts. 
Of  ready  money  I've  too  much  on  hand. 
Times  grow  again  uncertain.     Scarce  I  know 
Where  safely  to  dispose  it ;  and  I  thought 
That  you,  perhaps,  since  more  is  always  needed 
For  an  approaching  war,  might  mine  employ. 


I2O  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SALADIN  (fixing  his  eyes  upon  him.  ) 
I  will  not  ask  you,  Nathan,  if  Al-Hafi 
Has  been  already  with  you  ; — will  not  ask 
If  no  suspicion  prompts  this  willing  offer— 

NATHAN. 
Suspicion  ? 

SALADIN. 

I  deserve  it ; — but  forgive  me  ! 
Why  seek  to  hide  it  ?    Frankly,  'twas  my  purpose — • 

NATHAN. 
To  ask  the  same  of  me  ? 

SALADIN. 

• 

It  was  indeed. 

NATHAN. 

Then  can  we  both  be  served.     This  Templar  only 
Prevents  my  sending  you  my  whole  supply. 
You  know  the  Templar.     I've  a  heavy  debt 
That  first  must  be  discharged  to  him. 

SALADIN. 

A  Templar  ? 

You  surely  do  not  with  your  gold  support 
My  bitterest  foes  ? 

NATHAN. 

I  speak  but  of  the  one 
Whose  life  you  spared. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  121 

SALADIN. 

What  bring  you  to  my  mind  ! 
The  youth  I'd  utterly  forgot.     You  know  him  ? 
Where  is  he  ? 

NATHAN. 

Know  you  not  how  much  your  grace 
Has  flowed  through  him  on  me  ?     His  new-found 

life 
He  risked  to  save  my  daughter  from  the  fire. 

SALADIN. 

Ah,  did  he  so  ?     He  looked  like  such  an  one. 
So  had  my  brother  done,  whom  he  resembles. 
Is  he  still  here  ?     Conduct  him  hither  to  me. 
So  often  have  I  spoken  to  my  sister 
Of  this  her  brother  whom  she  never  knew, 
She  must  behold  his  image. — Go,  go  find  him  ! 
From  one  good  deed,  though  born  of  naught  but 

passion, 

How  many  other  noble  deeds  will  spring  I 
Go,  find  him  ! 

NATHAN. 

Instantly  ! — It  stands  agreed 
About  the  other.  [Goes. 

SALADIN. 

Ah,  why  let  I  not 

My  sister  listen  ?     To  her,  to  her  now  ! 
How  shall  I  ever  tell  her  of  it  all  ? 

[Goes  out  in  the  opposite  direction. 
ii 


122  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 


SCENE   VIII. 

Grove  of  palms  near  the  Convent,  where  the  TEMPLAR 
awaits  NATHAN. 

TEMPLAR  (walking  to  and  fro  in  conflict  with  himself, 

till  he  thus  breaks  forth}. 

Here  must  the  weary  victim  cease  his  struggles. — 
So  be  it  then  !     I  will  not,  must  not  look 
Into  my  heart  more  closely,  nor  forecast 
The  future  for  it.     Enough  that  flight  was  useless, 
Useless.     And  yet  I  could  do  nothing  more 
Than  fly. — Now  come  what  must ! — Too  suddenly 
To  be  evaded  fell  at  last  the  blow 
That  oft  and  long  I  had  refused  to  meet. — 
To  see  her,  her  I  had  so  little  wish 
To  see ;  to  see  her,  and  resolve  my  eyes 
Should  never  let  her  go —  Resolve  ?     Resolve 
Is  purpose,  action.     I  was  simply  passive. 
To  see  her,  and  to  feel  my  very  being 
Was  linked  with  hers,  bound  up  in  hers  forever, 
Was  instantaneous.     Life  apart  from  her 
Is  inconceivable  to  me — were  death  ; 
And  wheresoe'er  we  may  be  after  death, 
There  too  were  death.    If  that  be  love,  then — then — 
The  Templar  loves — the  Christian  loves  the  Jewess. 
What  matter  ?     Many  a  prejudice  already 


NATHAN   THE    WISE. 


123 


Have  I  discarded  in  the  Holy  Land — 

Holy  to  me  forever  for  that  cause. 

What  will  my  Order  further  ?     I,  the  Templar, 

Am  dead.     The  moment  I  became  the  prisoner 

Of  Saladin,  I  died  unto  my  Order. 

This  head  the  Sultan  gave, — is  it  my  old  one? 

Nay,  'tis  a  new  one — one  that  has  no  knowledge 

Of  the  traditions  by  which  that  was  fettered. 

A  better  too  ;  and  better  calculated 

To  breathe  my  native  air.     That  can  I  feel ; 

For  it  is  giving  me  the  very  thoughts 

My  father  must  have  cherished  here  before  me, 

Unless  I've  been  imposed  upon  with  fables. 

Yet  wherefore  fables  ?     Credible  enough  ; 

And  never  to  my  mind  more  credible 

Than  now,  in  danger  as  I  am  of  stumbling 

Where  he  has  fallen.  — Fallen  ?     I  will  choose 

Rather  to  fall  with  men  than  stand  with  children. 

His  approbation  is  secured  to  me 

By  his  example  ;  and  whose  approbation 

Could  I  desire  besides  ?     If  Nathan's —  Ah, 

Still  less  can  his  encouragement  be  wanting — 

More  dear  than  approbation. — What  a  Jew  ! 

Yet  one  who  chooses  to  be  thought  a  Jew, 

And  nothing  better. — Here  he  comes  in  haste, 

And  glowing  with  delight,  like  all  who  come 

From  Saladin.     Ho,  Nathan  ! 


124  NATHAN   THE    WISE 

SCENE    IX. 
NATHAN  and  the  TEMPLAR. 

NATHAN. 

Is  it  you  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
You  tarried  long  with  Saladin. 

NATHAN. 

Less  long 

Than  you  imagine.     I  was  much  delayed 
In  my  departure.     Truly,  truly,  Curd, 
The  man  is  equal  to  his  fame  ;  his  fame 
Is  but  his  shadow.      I  must  tell  you  first 
And  quickly — 

TEMPLAR. 
What  ? 

NATHAN. 

He  will  have  speech  with  you  ; 
Without  delay  he  bids  you  to  his  presence. 
First  to  my  house  with  me,  where  his  affairs 
Demand  my  presence  ;  then  we'll  go  together. 

TEMPLAR. 

Your  house  I  ne'er  again  will  enter,  Nathan, 
Till— 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  125 

NATHAN. 

Have  you  been  already — spoken  with  her  ? 
Say,  how  does  Recha  please  you  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Past  expression  ! 

But  never — never  will  I  see  her  more  ! 
Else  must  you  promise  it  may  be  forever. 

NATHAN. 
How  must  I  understand  your  words  ? 

TEMPLAR  (after  a  pause,  suddenly  throwing  himself  on 
Nathan's  neck], 

My  father ! 

NATHAN. 
Young  man ! 

TEMPLAR  (starting  back  from  him  as  suddenly). 
Not  son  ? — I  pray  you,  Nathan  ! — 

NATHAN. 

Friend  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

Not  son  ? — I  pray  you,  Nathan  ! — I  conjure  you — 
By  Nature's  earliest  ties  !     Let  later  bonds 
Not  take  precedence  of  them  !     Be  content 
To  be  a  man  !     Reject  me  not ! 

NATHAN. 

Dear  friend  ! 
n* 


126  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  son  ? — not  son  ? —  Not  e'en  if  gratitude 
Have  in  your  daughter's  heart  prepared  the  way 
For  love — if  both  were  waiting  but  your  sign 
To  melt  into  each  other  ! — You  are  silent  ? 

NATHAN. 
You  take  me  by  surprise,  young  knight. 

TEMPLAR. 

Surprise  ? 

Surprise  you  with  your  own  suggestions,  Nathan  ? 
Sound  they  then  unfamiliar  from  my  lips  ? 
How  take  you  by  surprise  ? 

NATHAN. 

Ere  I  e'en  know 
What  Stauflfen  was  your  father  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Nathan,  Nathan  ! 

At  such  a  moment  have  you  no  emotion 
Save  curiosity? 

NATHAN. 
For  in  the  past 
A  Stauffen  well  I  knew  :  his  name  was  Conrad. 

TEMPLAR. 
If  'twere  my  father's  name  ? 

NATHAN. 

Was  it  indeed  ? 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  127 

TEMPLAR. 
I  bear  my  father's  name,  Curd.     Curd  is  Conrad. 

NATHAN. 

My  Conrad,  though,  could  not  have  been  your  father  ; 
For  he  was  like  yourself — he  was  a  Templar  ; 
Ne'er  married. 

TEMPLAR 
Such  a  reason  ! 

NATHAN. 

What? 

TEMPLAR. 

For  that 
He  might  have  been  my  father. 

NATHAN. 

You  are  jesting. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  you  are  much  too  serious.    Where's  the  harm  ? 
A  bit  of  bastard  ;  a  bar  sinister  ; 
A  mark  it  is,  no  wise  to  be  despised. — 
But  leave  my  ancestors  unquestioned,  Nathan  ; 
So  shall  your  own  go  free.     No  faintest  doubt 
I  mean  to  cast  upon  your  pedigree. 
No ;  God  forbid  !     You  trace  it,  branch  by  branch, 
As  high  as  Abraham  ;  and  from  him  still  up. 
I  know  it  well  myself — could  swear  to  it. 

NATHAN. 
You're  bitter  ;  but  have  I  deserved  it  from  you  ? 


128  XATHAN   THE    WISE. 

Have  I  yet  aught  refused  ?     I  would  not  hold  you 
Upon  the  instant  to  your  word.     No  more. 

TEMPLAR. 
No  more  ?     Ah,  then  forgive  ! 

NATHAN. 

Come,  come  with  me. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  whither  ? — to  your  house  ?   No,  no ;  not  there — • 
Not  there  ! — it  burns  me  !     I  will  wait  you  here. 
Go. — If  I  am  to  look  on  her  again, 
'Twill  be  to  gaze  my  fill ;  if  not — too  much 
Already  have  I  seen  her. 

NATHAN. 
I  will  haste. 


SCENE    X. 
THE  TEMPLAR  ;  soon  afterwards  DAJA. 

TEMPLAR. 

More  than  enough  ! — how  infinitely  much 
Man's  brain  will  hold,  and  yet  at  times  grows  full 
So  suddenly, — so  suddenly  grows  full 
With  naught ! — Vain,  vain — be  it  filled  with  what  it 
may  ! — 


NATHAN   THE    WISE. 


129 


But  patience  !     Soon  upon  this  swollen  mass 
The  soul  will  work,  and  space  be  cleared,  and  light 
And  order  reign  again. — Have  I  ne'er  loved 
Before  ?     Was  that  not  love,  that  love  I  deemed  ? 
Can  only  this  be  love  ? 

DAJA  (approaching  stealthily}. 
Knight,  Knight! 

TEMPLAR. 

Who  calls? 
You,  Daja? 

DAJA. 

Unperceived  by  him,  I  passed  ; 
Yet  where  you  stand  might  he  detect  us.     Come, 
Come  nearer  me.     This  tree  shall  be  our  screen. 

TEMPLAR 
What  is  it  ?  why  so  secret  ? 

DAJA. 

'Tis  a  secret 

That  brings  me  to  you  ;  ay,  a  double  secret  ; 
One  known  but  to  myself — one  lent  to  you. 
What  say  you  to  exchanging  ?     Give  me  yours, 
And  mine  will  I  confide  to  you. 

TEMPLAR. 

Right  gladly, 

When  first  I  know  what  you  consider  mine. 
That  doubtless  shall  I  learn  from  yours.     Begin  ! 


130  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

DAJA. 

Excuse  me.     No,  Sir  Knight,  you  first ;  I  follow. 
Be  sure  my  secret  will  avail  you  naught, 
Have  I  not  first  your  own.     Quick,  therefore,  quick ! 
Wait  till  I  draw  it  from  you,  you  will  then 
Have  naught  confided  ;  mine  is  still  my  own, 
While  yours  is  gone. — Poor  Knight !  that  men  should 

think 
Such  secrets  can  be  hidden  from  a  woman  ! 

TEMPLAR. 
Which  oft  we're  quite  unconscious  of  possessing. 

DAJA. 

Tis  possible.     Then  will  I  kindly  first 
Acquaint  you  with  your  own.  What  meant  it,  Knight, 
That  with  such  headlong  haste  but  now  you  fled  ; 
That  you  so  left  us  wondering ;  that  with  Nathan 
You  joined  us  not  again  ?     Made  Recha,  then, 
So  slight  impression,  or  so  great  ?     So  great ! 
So  great !    The  flutterings  of  the  poor  charmed  bird 
You  make  me  know,  that's  fastened  to  the  perch. 
Come,  own  you  love  her — love  her  e'en  to  madness, 
And  I  will  tell  you — 

TEMPLAR. 

Madness  ?     Truly,  there 
You  speak  of  what  you  know. 

DAJA. 

Own  then  the  love  ; 
I  yield  the  madness. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  131 

TEMPLAR. 
For  it  tells  itself? 
A  Templar  love  a  Jewess  ! 

DAJA. 

Little  enough 

Of  reason  seems  there  in  it ;  yet  have  things 
Ofttimes  a  deeper  reason  than  we  think. 
No  new  thing  were  it  that  unto  himself 
The  Saviour  should  conduct  us  upon  ways 
The  wise  would  scarce  have  chosen. 

TEMPLAR. 

You  are  solemn. 

(Yet  if  for  Saviour  read  I  Providence, 
Is  she  not  right  ?)     My  curiosity 
Is  stirred  beyond  its  wont. 

DAJA. 

This  is  the  land 
Of  wonders. 

TEMPLAR. 

(Of  the  wonderful  indeed. 
Could  it  be  otherwise — since  here  the  world 
Is  met  together  ?)     Take  for  granted,  Daja, 
Whatever  you  desire  ;  say  that  I  love  her  ; 
I  cannot  think  of  life  without  her ;  that — 

DAJA. 

In  truth  ?    Then  swear  to  make  her  yours,  to  save  her, 
For  time  and  for  eternity  to  save  her. 


132  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

How  so — how  can  I  so  ?    Can  I  then  swear 
What  lies  not  in  my  power  ? 

DAJA. 

'Tis  in  your  power. 
One  word  of  mine  shall  put  it  in  your  power. 

TEMPLAR. 
That  e'en  her  father  shall  have  naught  against  it  ? 

DAJA. 
Why  father  ?     Father  !     Ah,  he  must  consent. 

TEMPLAR. 

Must,  Daja  ?     Has  he  fallen  among  thieves  ? 
There  is  no  must. 

DAJA. 

Well,  well ;  he  must  be  willing — 
He  must  be  glad  at  last. 

TEMPLAR. 

He  must — and  glad  ? 
If  I  should  tell  you,  Daja,  'tis  a  chord 
I've  struck  already ! 

DAJA. 
And  he  chimed  not  in  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
He  answered  with  a  discord  that  offended. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  133 

DAJA. 

What  say  you  ?     At  the  shadow  of  a  wish 
You  showed  for  Recha,  leaped  he  not  for  joy, 
But  drew  with  coldness  back,  raised  difficulties  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
'Twas  nearly  so. 

DAJA. 

Then  not  one  moment  more 
I  hesitate. 

TEMPLAR. 
Yet  still  you  hesitate  r 

DAJA. 

So  good  he  is  in  all  besides  !  my  debt 
To  him  so  great !     Oh  that  he  would  but  hear  ! 
God  knows  my  heart  is  bleeding  thus  to  force  him. 

TEMPLAR. 

I  pray  you  keep  me  not  in  this  suspense  ! 
Yet  if  yourself  uncertain  whether  good 
Or  evil,  culpable  or  laudable 
Your  purpose,  speak  not.     I'll  forget  there's  aught 
To  be  concealed. 

DAJA. 

That  spurs  me  on,  checks  not. 
Know  then  that  Recha  is  no  Jewish  maiden  ; 
She  is — a  Christian. 

TEMPLAR  (coldly). 
I  congratulate  you. 
12 


134  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

Found  you  the  labor  hard  ?     Let  not  the  throes 

Dismay  you  !     Still  continue  zealously 

To  people  heaven,  since  you  can  naught  for  earth. 

DAJA. 

How,  Knight !    Deserves  my  confidence  your  scorn  ? 
Care  you — you,  Christian,  Templar,  Lover  too — 
Care  you  so  little  Recha  is  a  Christian  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
Especially  a  Christian  of  your  making  ! 

DAJA. 

You  take  me  so  ?     No  wonder  then  !     Not  so  ; 
I'd  like  to  see  who  could  convert  her  !     No  ! 
It  is  her  happiness  to  have  been  long 
What  she  has  been  prevented  from  becoming. 

TEMPLAR. 
Tell  all,  or — go  ! 

DAJA. 

She  is  a  Christian  child  ; 
Of  Christian  parents  born  ;  baptized — 

TEMPLAR  (hastily}. 

And  Nathan? 

DAJA. 

Is  not  her  father  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

Nathan  not  her  father  ! 
Know  you  what  you  are  saying  ? 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  135 

DAJA. 

The  truth  which  oft 
Has  cost  me  tears  of  blood. — He's  not  her  father  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

But  as  his  daughter  brought  her  up  ?     A  Christian 
Brought  up  as  Jewess  ? 

DAJA. 
Yes. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  knows  she  not 

What  she  was  born  ?  ne'er  has  she  learned  from  him 
That  she  was  born  a  Christian,  not  a  Jewess  ? 

DAJA. 

Never. 

TEMPLAR. 

Not  only  did  he  train  the  child 
In  this  delusion,  but  in  this  delusion 
Allow  the  maid  to  rest  ? 

DAJA. 

Alas,  too  true  ! 
TEMPLAR. 

Could  Nathan,  wise  and  good,  allow  himself 
The  voice  of  Nature  thus  to  falsify  ; 
Thus  misdirect  the  emotions  of  a  heart 
Which  of  themselves  had  flowed  in  other  channels  ? 
A  something  you  indeed  have  told  me,  Daja, 


136  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

Which  is  of  weight ;  is  big  with  consequences  ; 
Bewilders  me  ;  throws  doubt  upon  my  course. — 
I  must  have  time.     Go  !     He  will  come  this  way, 
And  might  surprise  us.     Go  ! 

DAJA. 

Ah,  that  were  death  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

I  am  unfit  to  meet  him.     If  you  see  him, 
Say  that  before  the  Sultan  he  shall  find  me. 

DAJA. 

No  hint  to  him  !     Reserve  that  till  the  last, 
To  take  from  you  all  scruples  touching  Recha. 
But  when  you  take  her  back  to  Europe,  Knight, 
Pray,  leave  me  not  behind. 

TEMPLAR. 

We'll  see.     Go,  go  ! 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  137 


ACT    FOURTH. 


SCENE    I. 

The  cloisters  of  the  Monastery.      The  LAY-BROTHER; 
afterwards  the  TEMPLAR. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Ay,  ay ;  the  Patriarch's  in  the  right ;  'tis  true, 
Of  all  the  matters  he  intrusted  to  me, 
Not  many  would  succeed.     But  why  intrust 
Such  matters  to  me  ?     I've  no  knack  at  plotting, 
Persuading,  thrusting  everywhere  my  nose, 
In  every  dish  my  fingers.     But  for  this 
Did  I  forsake  the  world,  to  be  involved 
More  deeply  in  it  by  affairs  of  others  ? 

TEMPLAR  (approaching  him  hurriedly). 
You're  here,  good  brother  !    I  have  sought  you  long. 

LAY-BROTHER. 
Me,  Knight? 

TEMPLAR. 
Have  you  so  soon  forgotten  me  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Not  so  ;  I  only  thought  that  ne'er  in  life 
Would  further  sight  of  you  be  granted  me  ; 
12* 


138  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

Although  I  prayed  to  Heaven  it  might.     God  knows 
How  much  I  loathed  my  errand  to  the  Knight : 
He  knows  if  ready  ear  I  hoped  to  find  ; 
Knows  how  I  was  rejoiced,  at  heart  rejoiced, 
That  you  would  give  it  scarce  a  thought,  but  flatly 
Rejected  what  would  ill  become  a  knight. — 
But  now  you  seek  me.     It  has  taken  effect. 

TEMPLAR. 
You  know  why  I  am  come  ?     I  scarce  could  tell. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

You  have  considered  it ;  find,  after  all, 
The  Patriarch  not  so  wrong ;  that  fame  and  fortune 
Lie  in  his  offer ;  that  a  foe's  a  foe, 
Were  he  seven  times  our  guardian  angel.     That, 
All  that,  with  flesh  and  blood  you've  balanced  well, 
And  come  and  offer  for  the  work.     Alas  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

Good  man,  take  comfort :  not  for  that  I  come  ; 
Not  therefore  do  I  seek  the  Patriarch. 
His  offer  do  I  still  esteem  as  then. 
For  all  the  world  could  give,  I  would  not  lose 
The  approval  once  vouchsafed  me  by  a  man 
So  honest,  kind,  and  true.     I  only  come 
To  ask  the  Patriarch's  counsel  in  a  matter — 

LAY-BROTHER. 
The  Patriarch's  ?     Seeks  a  knight  a  priest's — 

[Casting  a  frightened  look  around. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  139 

TEMPLAR. 

Yes,  brother  ; 
The  case  is  somewhat  priestly. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Ne'er  would  priest 
Consult  a  knight,  the  case  be  e'er  so  knightly. 

TEMPLAR. 

For  'tis  the  priest's  prerogative  to  err  : 
One  we'll  not  greatly  envy  him.     Indeed, 
Concerned  this  matter  but  myself  alone, 
Were  I  but  to  myself  accountable, 
What  need  of  Patriarch  ?     But  some  things  there  are 
I'd  rather  do  amiss  by  others'  judgment, 
Than  wisely  by  my  own.     Besides,  I've  learned 
Religion  also  is  a  party  thing  ; 
The  most  impartial,  as  he  deems  himself, 
Defends  unconsciously  his  favorite  side. — 
Since  so  it  is,  we  must  suppose  it  right. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

I  would  be  silent — understanding  not 
The  Knight. 

TEMPLAR. 

And  yet — (what  is  it  here  I  want — 
Decree  or  counsel  ? — counsel  plain  or  learned  ?) 
Thanks,  brother,  for  the  hint.     Why  Patriarch  ? 
Be  you  my  Patriarch  ;  for  it  is  the  Christian 
Within  the  Patriarch  that  I  would  consult, 
And  not  the  Patriarch  in  the  Christian.     Listen  ! 


I4O  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

No  further,  Knight — no  further  !    To  what  purpose? 
The  Knight  mistakes  me.    He  who  has  much  know 
ledge 

Has- many  cares,  and  I  am  pledged  to  one. 
But  see — he  comes  himself,  most  happily. 
Wait  where  you  are  ;  already  he  has  seen  you. 


SCENE    III. 

The  PATRIARCH  advancing  in  great  pomp  on  one  side  of 
the  cloisters,  and  (he  preceding. 

TEMPLAR. 

I  would  I  could  escape.     He's  not  my  man  ! 
A  red,  fat,  jolly  prelate  ;  and  what  state  ! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

See  him  arrayed  for  court  !     Now  he  but  comes 
From  visiting  the  sick. 

TEMPLAR. 

How  Saladin 
Must  blush  before  him  ! 

PATRIARCH  (signs  to  the  Brother). 

Here  ! — I  see  the  Templar. 
What  will  he  have  ? 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  141 

LAY-BROTHER. 
I  know  not. 

PATRIARCH  (approaching  the  Templar,  while  the  brother 
and  attendants  fall  back}. 

Ah,  Sir  Knight- 
Most  glad  so  gallant  a  young  man  to  greet ; 
Ay,  still  so  young  !     Great  things  will  come  of  you, 
God  helping. 

TEMPLAR. 

Scarcely  greater,  reverend  Sir, 
Than  what  have  come  ;  more  likely  somewhat  less. 

PATRIARCH. 

I  hope  at  least  a  knight  so  pious  may  bloom 
And  flourish  long,  an  honor  and  a  gain 
To  Christendom  and  to  the  cause  of  God  ; 
Which  cannot  fail  if,  wisely,  youthful  daring 
Will  use  the  ripe  experience  of  age. 
How  can  I  serve  the  Knight  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

By  giving  that 
In  which  my  youth  is  wanting — counsel. 

PATRIARCH. 

Gladly, 
Provided,  only,  counsel  will  be  taken. 

TEMPLAR. 
Not  blindly,  certainly  ? 


142  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

PATRIARCH. 

I  say  not  blindly. 

No  man  indeed  should  fail  to  use  the  reason 
That  God  has  given  him — in  its  proper  place. 
But  is  that  everywhere  ?     Oh  no  !     For  instance  : 
Should  God  vouchsafe  to  show  us  by  an  angel — 
That  is,  a  servant  of  His  holy  word — 
A  means  of  furthering,  establishing 
The  welfare  of  all  Christendom,  the  good 
Of  Holy  Church  in  an  especial  manner, 
Who  would  presume  to  let  his  reason  question 
The  absolute  authority  of  Him 
Who  made  that  reason — try  the  eternal  law 
Of  Heaven's  high  majesty  by  narrow  rules 
Of  idle  honor  ?     But  enough  of  this. 
Now  on  what  question  seeks  the  Knight  our  counsel  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Suppose,  most  reverend  Father,  that  a  Jew 
Should  have  an  only  child,  an  only  daughter — 
Trained  up  in  every  virtue  by  his  care, 
Loved  more  than  his  own  soul,  who,  in  return, 
Loves  him  with  fond  devotion — and  'twere  told 
To  one  of  us  the  girl  was  not  his  daughter ; 
That  he  had  bought,  found,  stolen  her,  what  you  will, 
In  childhood  ;  and  that  further  it  was  known 
She  was  a  Christian,  and  had  been  baptized, — 
The  Jew  had  only  brought  her  up  a  Jewess, 
Would  only  have  her  taken  for  a  Jewess, 


NATHAN   THE  WISE.  143 

And  his  own  daughter.     Say,  most  reverend  Father, 
How  shall  such  case  be  dealt  with  ? 

PATRIARCH. 

Ah,  I  shudder  ! 

First  let  the  Knight  explain  if  this  be  fact 
Or  but  hypothesis  ;  that  is  to  say, 
If  he  invented  it,  or  if  'twere  done, 
Be  doing  now. 

TEMPLAR. 

That  deem  I  unimportant  ; 
I  would  but  learn  your  Reverence's  opinion. 

PATRIARCH. 

Deem  unimportant !     There  the  Knight  may  see 
How  pride  of  human  reason  will  mislead 
In  matters  spiritual.     Not  unimportant  ; 
For  is  the  case  proposed  a  play  of  wit, 
It  merits  not  my  serious  reflection. 
I  should  refer  the  Knight  to  any  theatre 
Where  with  applause  the  pros  and  cons  are  argued. 
But  if  the  Knight  put  no  stage  trick  upon  me ; 
If  this  be  fact ;  if  in  our  diocese, 
In  our  dear  city  of  Jerusalem, 
He  have  been  witness  to  it ; — then — 

TEMPLAR. 

What  then  ? 

PATRIARCH. 

Then  should  be  executed  on  the  Jew, 
Without  delay,  the  penalty  decreed 


144  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

Against  such  crimes,  such  outrages,  by  laws 
Imperial  and  papal. 

TEMPLAR. 
So? 
PATRIARCH. 

Those  laws 

Decree  to  any  Jew  who  from  the  faith 
A  Christian  shall  pervert,  the  stake — the  flames — 

TEMPLAR. 
So? 

PATRIARCH. 

How  much  more  to  one  who  shall  have  torn 
By  violence  from  her  baptismal  vows 
A  Christian  child  !     For  all  is  violence 
That's  done  to  children,  is  it  not  ? — that  is, 
Excepting  what  the  Church  may  do  to  children. 

TEMPLAR. 

But  if  the  child  in  misery  had  died, 
Unless  the  Jew  had  had  compassion  on  it  ? 

PATRIARCH. 

It  matters  not ;  the  Jew  goes  to  the  stake  ! 
Better  the  child  had  died  in  misery  here 
Than  thus  be  saved  for  everlasting  ruin. — 
Besides,  why  need  the  Jew  anticipate 
God's  providence  ?     Without  him  God  can  save, 
If  save  he  will. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  145 

| 

TEMPLAR. 

And  e'en  in  spite  of  him, 
I  trow,  accord  salvation. 

PATRIARCH. 

Matters  not ; 
The  Jew  goes  to  the  stake  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

I  grieve  to  hear  it. 

The  more  because  the  girl  is  trained,  'tis  said, 
In  no  religion  rather  than  his  own  ; 
And  has  been  taught  no  more  nor  less  of  God 
Than  satisfies  her  reason. 

PATRIARCH. 

Matters  not ; 

The  Jew  goes  to  the  stake  ! — a  triple  stake, 
For  that  alone  he'd  merit.     Let  a  child 
Grow  up  with  no  religion — teach  it  naught 
Of  the  important  duty  of  believing  ! 
That  is  too  much  !     I  marvel,  Knight,  that  you — 

TEMPLAR. 

The  rest  in  the  confessional,  God  willing, 
Most  reverend  Sir.  \About  to  go. 

PATRIARCH. 

You  give  no  explanation  ? 
You  name  me  not  this  criminal,  this  Jew  ? 
Produce  him  not  ?     But  I  have  means  at  hand. 
13 


146  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

I'll  instantly  to  Saladin.     The  Sultan, 

According  to  the  treaty  he  has  sworn, 

Must,  must  protect  us  ;  in  the  rights,  the  doctrines 

That  for  the  true  religion  we  may  claim, 

He  must  protect  us.     The  original, 

Thank  God,  is  ours.     We  have  his  hand  and  seal. 

'Twere  easy  to  convince  him,  too,  the  State, 

By  this  believing  nothing,  is  endangered  ; 

All  hold  upon  the  citizen  dissolved, 

When  he's  permitted  to  believe  in  nothing. 

Away  with  such  a  scandal ! 

TEMPLAR. 

I  regret 

Not  having  greater  leisure  to  enjoy 
So  excellent  a  sermon.     Saladin 
Has  summoned  me. 

PATRIARCH. 

The  Sultan  ? — Then — indeed — 
TEMPLAR. 

I  will,  if  it  shall  please  your  Reverence, 
Prepare  the  Sultan. 

PATRIARCH. 

Ah  !— The  Knight,  I  know, 
Found  favor  with  the  Sultan.     I  but  pray 
To  be  remembered  favorably  to  him. 
My  only  motive  is  my  zeal  for  God. 
If  I  in  aught  exceed,  'tis  for  his  sake. 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  147 

I  pray  the  Knight  will  so  consider  it. 

That  tale  about  the  Jew  was  but  a  problem — 

Not  so,  Sir  Knight  ?     That  is  to  say — 

TEMPLAR. 

A  problem.      [Goes. 

PATRIARCH. 

(Yet  one  that  must  be  sifted  to  the  bottom. 
Another  excellent  commission  that 
For  brother  Bonafides.) — Here,  my  son  ! 

{Goes  out  in  conversation  with  the  Lay-brother. 


SCENE    III. 

A  room  in  the  Sultan  s  palace.  A  number  of  slaves 
bring  in  bags  and  lay  them  side  by  side  upon  the  floor. 
SALADIN  ;  soon  afterwards  SITTAH. 

SALADIN  (entering). 
What !     'Tis  not  ended  yet !     Is  much  remaining  ? 

SLAVE. 
As  much  again. 

SALADIN. 

Then  take  the  rest  to  Sittah. — 
Where  tarries  Hafi  ?     Hafi  should  be  here 
To  take  immediate  charge  of  this.     Or  were  it 
Not  better  carried  to  my  father  ?     Here 


148  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

It  will  but  slip  away  from  me.     'Tis  true, 

One's  heart  grows  hard  at  last ;  and  even  now 

'Twould  take  some  skill  to  squeeze  much  out  of  me. 

At  least,  until  the  moneys  come  from  Egypt, 

The  poor  must  make  what  shift  they  can. — The  alms 

About  the  sepulchre,  if  only  they 

Might  be  continued  ;  if  the  Christian  pilgrims 

Need  only  not  go  empty-handed  ;  if — 

SITTAH. 
What  means  all  this  ?     Why  all  this  gold  for  me  ? 

SALADIN. 

Repay  yourself  from  it,  and  lay  up  store, 
If  any's  over. 

SITTAH. 

Nathan  not  yet  come 
With  the  young  Templar  ? 

SALADIN. 

He  is  everywhere 
In  search  of  him. 

SITTAH. 

See  what  I  found  but  now, 
While  searching  'mongst  my  jewels. 

[Shcrwing  him  a  miniature. 

SALADIN. 

Ha  !     My  brother  ! 
'Tis  he — 'tis  he  !     Was  he — was  he  !     Alas ! 


NATHAN  THE    WISE.  149 

My  noble  boy  !  oh,  why  so  early  lost ! 

What  might  I  not  have  done,  with  you  beside  me  ? 

Leave  me  the  picture,  Sittah.     Well  I  know  it. 

He  gave  it  to  your  sister,  to  his  Lilla, 

One  morning  when  she  hung  about  his  neck, 

And  would  not  let  him  go.     It  was  the  last. 

He  rode  abroad.     I  let  him  go — alone. 

Poor  Lilla  died  of  grief,  and  ne'er  forgave  me 

That  I  should  let  him  thus  ride  forth  alone. — 

He  came  not  back. 

SITTAH. 
Poor  brother ! 

SALADIN. 

Be  it  so  ! 

One  day  we  all  shall  go  and  come  not  back. — 
Besides — who  knows —  Not  death  alone  defeats 
The  hopes  of  such  as  he.     More  foes  he  has  ; 
And  oft  the  strongest  yields  him  like  the  weakest. 
Be  with  him  as  it  may  ! — The  Templar's  face 
I  must  compare  with  this  ; — must  read  in  this 
How  far  my  fancy  has  misled  me. 

SITTAH. 

Yes; 

For  that  I  brought  it  here.     But  give  it  me  ! 
I'll  tell  you  best ;  a  woman's  eye  sees  quicker. 

SALADIN  (to  an  attendant  who  enters}. 
Who's  there  ?     If  'tis  the  Templar,  bid  him  enter. 
13* 


150  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

SlTTAH. 

That  you  be  not  disturbed,  nor  he  confused 
By  my  examination — 

[Seats  herself  upon  a  sofa,  her  face  partly  averted, 
and  drops  her  veil. 

SALADIN. 

That  is  well ! 

(Now  for  his  voice — how  will  it  be  with  that  ? 
The  tones  of  Assad  slumber  still  within  me.) 


SCENE    IV. 
The  TEMPLAR  and  SALADIN. 

TEMPLAR. 
Your  prisoner,  Sultan — 

SALADIN. 

Prisoner  ?     Grant  I  life, 
And  grant  not  freedom  too  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

What  you  may  grant 
'Tis  mine  to  learn,  and  not  anticipate. 
But,  Sultan,  thanks  to  offer  for  my  life 
Accords  not  with  my  character  or  Order. 
At  any  call  that  life  is  at  your  service. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  151 

SALADIN. 

I  ask  you  but  to  use  it  not  against  me. 
My  foe  I  grudge  not  one  more  pair  of  hands  ; 
But  'twould  go  hard  one  more  such  heart  to  give  him. 
I've  been  in  naught  deceived  in  you,  young  man — 
You're  Assad  o'er  again  in  form  and  soul. 
Yea,  I  might  ask  you  where  through  all  these  years 
You've  been  in  hiding ;  sleeping  in  what  cave ; 
What  kindly  power,  within  what  Ginnistan, 
Has  kept  my  flower  from  year  to  year  so  fresh. 
I  might  attempt  to  call  up  memories 
Of  what  we  did  together  here  or  there ; 
Might  chide  you  that  you  kept  one  secret  from  me ; 
Excluded  me  from  one  adventure.     Yes, 
That  might  I  if  I  look  not  at  myself, 
But  only  you. — Enough.     Of  these  sweet  dreams 
So  much  at  least  is  true,  that  in  my  autumn 
An  Assad  is  to  bloom  for  me  again. 
Consent  you,  Knight  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Whatever  comes  from  you 
Already  lies,  a  wish,  within  my  heart. 

SALADIN. 

That  test  we  on  the  instant.     Stay  with  me, 
About  me.     As  a  Mussulman  or  Christian, 
Alike  to  me  !     In  turban  or  in  hat, 
White  cloak  or  Turkish  mantle — as  you  will ! 
I  ne'er  required  one  bark  on  every  tree. 


152  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

Else  were  you  not,  as  now  you  are,  the  hero, 
Who  fain  would  be  God's  husbandman. 

SALADIN. 

So  then, 
If  thus  you  judge  me,  we  are  half  agreed. 

TEMPLAR. 
Quite  I 

SALADIN  {offering  his  hand], 
Done? 

TEMPLAR  (grasping  *'/). 
A  bargain  !     More  receive  with  this 
Than  you  could  force  from  me.     I'm  wholly  yours  ! 

SALADIN. 

Too  much  to  gain  in  one  short  day — too  much  ! 
Came  he  not  with  you  here  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Who? 

SALADIN. 

Nathan. 

TEMPLAR  (coldly). 

No; 
I  came  alone. 

SALADIN. 
Yours  was  a  noble  deed  ; 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  153 

And  what  a  happy  chance  that  such  a  deed 
Should  work  the  good  of  such  a  man  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

Oh  yes. 

SALADIN. 

So  coldly  ?     Nay,  young  man,  be  not  so  cold 
When  you  are  made  God's  instrument  for  good  ; 
Nor  wish  through  modesty  so  cold  to  seem. 

TEMPLAR. 

Why  are  all  things  on  earth  so  many-sided, 
And  all  their  sides  so  hard  to  reconcile  ! 

SALADIN. 

Hold  always  to  the  best,  and  give  God  thanks. 
'Tis  His  to  reconcile  them.     But,  young  man, 
If  you  will  be  so  difficult,  I  too 
Must  be  upon  my  guard  with  you.     I  too, 
Alas,  have  many  sides  which  oft  seem  hard 
To  reconcile. 

TEMPLAR. 

You  pain  me  ;  for  suspicion 
Is  scarce  among  my  faults. 

SALADIN. 

Whom,  then,  suspect? 

Nathan,  it  seems ;  but  how  ?     Nathan  suspected  ? 
Explain  ;  give  your  first  proof  of  confidence. 


154  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

Naught  have  I  against  Nathan  ;  with  myself 
I'm  angry. 

SALADIN. 

And  for  what  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

For  having  dreamed 

That  Jew  could  e'er  be  aught  but  Jew ;  that  waking 
I  should  have  dreamed. 

SALADIN. 

Out  with  your  waking  dream ! 

TEMPLAR. 

Of  Nathan's  daughter  you  have  heard.     The  deed 
I  did  for  her,  I  did — because  I  did  it. 
Too  proud  to  reap  the  thanks  I  had  not  sowed, 
I  haughtily  refused  from  day  to  day 
To  see  the  girl.     The  father  was  away  : 
But  he  returns ;  he  hears  ;  he  seeks  me  out ; 
He  thanks  me  ;  hopes  that  I  may  like  his  daughter ; 
He  talks  of  happy  prospects  for  the  future. 
And  I  allow  myself  to  be  persuaded  ; 
Go,  see  her,  find  indeed  a  maiden —  Ah, 
I  must  take  shame  upon  me,  Sultan. 

SALADIN. 

Shame? 
Because  a  Jewish  maiden  charmed  you  ?     Never. 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  155 

TEMPLAR. 

Because  my  over-hasty  heart,  misled 
By  Nathan's  flattering  words,  scarce  made  resistance. 
Oh  fool !  again  I  sprang  into  the  flames  ; 
For  now  I  sued,  and  now  was  I  disdained. 

SALADIN. 
Disdained  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Kot  utterly  did  he  reject  me, 
The  cautious  father  :  but  he  must  consider  ; 
Must  make  inquiries.     Did  I  not  the  same? 
Did  I  not  first  consider  and  inquire, 
When  she  was  shrieking  in  the  flames  ?     By  heaven  ! 
A  noble  thing  to  be  so  wise,  so  cautious  ! 

SALADIN. 

Nay  ;  be  indulgent  to  his  years  !  How  long 
Will  his  refusal  hold  ?  till  you  turn  Jew  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
Who  knows  ? 

SALADIN. 
Who  knows  ?     He  who  reads  Nathan  better. 

TEMPLAR. 

That  superstition  which  has  grown  with  us, 
Know  it  for  superstition  though  we  may, 
Relaxes  not  for  that  its  hold  upon  us. 
Not  all  who  scorn  their  chains  are  free. 


156  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

SALADIN. 

Well  said  ; 
But  Nathan— 

TEMPLAR. 

Tis  the  worst  of  superstitions 
To  deem  one's  own  the  most  endurable. 

SALADIN. 
That  may  be  so  ;  but  Nathan — 

TEMPLAR. 

As  the  one 

In  which  alone  purblind  humanity 
May  trust,  till  it  can  bear  the  clearer  day 
Of  truth  ;  the  only  one — 

SALADIN. 

Well,  well ;  but  Nathan  ! 
Such  weakness  cannot  be  the  doom  of  Nathan. 

TEMPLAR. 

So  thought  I  too  ;  but  if  this  paragon 
Were  so  the  common  Jew,  that  Christian  children 
He  seeks  to  gain,  to  bring  them  up  as  Jews — 
What  then  ? 

SALADIN. 

Who  is  it  brings  such  charge  against  him  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

That  very  maiden  he  decoyed  me  with, 
With  hope  of  whom  he  seemed  so  glad  to  pay 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  157 

The  service  I  was  not  to  be  allowed 
To  render  her  for  nothing  ; — she  herself 
Is  not  his  daughter,  but  a  Christian  child 
Lost  to  her  faith. 

SALADIN. 
Whom  yet  he  could  refuse  you  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Refuse  or  not,  I  have  discovered  him  ! 
This  tolerant  pretender  is  exposed  ! 
I'll  set  upon  the  track  of  this  Jew  wolf 
In  his  sheep's  clothing  of  philosophy, 
Hounds  that  shall  tear  and  worry.       • 

SALADIN  (earnestly}. 

Gently,  Christian  ! 
TEMPLAR. 

What !  gently,  Christian  ?     Mussulman  and  Jew 
Are  to  insist  on  Mussulman  and  Jew, 
And  only  Christians  must  not  make  a  Christian  ? 

SALADIN  (more  earnestly). 
Be  gentle,  Christian  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

Fully  do  I  feel 

The  burden  of  reproach  that  Saladin 
Compresses  in  those  words. — If  I  but  knew 
How  Assad  would  have  done,  had  he  been  here  ! 
14 


158  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

SALADIN. 

But  little  better ;  just  as  violent. 
Who  taught  you  thus  to  bribe  me  with  a  word, 
Like  him  ?     Indeed,  if  what  you  tell  be  true, 
I  have  been  disappointed  in  this  Nathan. — 
Still  he's  a  friend  :  ne'er  must  one  friend  of  mine 
Have  quarrel  with  another. — Be  advised  ; 
Move  cautiously  ;  denounce  him  not  in  haste 
To  your  fanatics  ;  rather  hide  a  deed 
Your  priesthood  would  appeal  to  me  to  avenge. 
Be  not  a  Christian  to  the  injury 
Of  Jew  or  Mussulman. 

TEMPLAR. 

Almost  too  late  ! 

Thanks  to  the  Patriarch's  eagerness  for  blood 
I  shrank  from  being  his  tool. 

SALADIN. 

Ere  seeking  me 
You  sought  the  Patriarch  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

In  the  storm  of  passion, 

The  whirl  of  doubt !     Forgive  !     No  more  of  Assad 
Will  you  acknowledge  in  me  now,  I  fear. 

SALADIN. 

That  very  fear  !     Methinks  I  know  the  faults 
From  which  our  virtue  grows.     Cherish  but  this, 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  159 

And  those  shall  not  weigh  heavily  against  you. 
But  go  ;  seek  Nathan  as  he  sought  for  you, 
And  bring  him  hither.     I  must  clear  away 
All  difference  between  you.     Are  you  earnest 
About  the  maiden,  be  at  rest.     She's  yours  ; 
And  Nathan  pays  the  penalty  for  keeping 
A  Christian  child  from  eating  pork.     Now  go  ! 


SCENE    V. 
SALADIN  and  SITTAH. 

SITTAH. 
Most  wonderful ! 

SALADIN. 

Confess,  a  handsome  boy 
My  Assad  must  have  been. 

SITTAH. 

If  it  be  he 

The  picture  represents,  and  not  the  Templar. 
But  how  could  you  forget  to  learn  his  parents  ? 

SALADIN. 

And  chief,  his  mother — if  she  e'er  were  here  ? 
Is  that  it,  Sittah  ? 

SITTAH. 
You  shall  pay  for  that  1 


160  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

SALADIN. 

Naught  likelier ;  for  such  a  favorite 
Was  Assad  with  the  beauteous  Christian  ladies, 
Was  of  the  Christian  ladies  so  enamored, 
The  story  ran —  Nay,  best  not  speak  of  it. 
Enough,  I  have  him  back  ;  with  all  his  faults, 
With  all  the  fancies  of  his  too  fond  heart, 
Will  have  him  back.     O  Sittah,  must  not  Nathan 
Give  him  the  maiden  ? 

SITTAH. 

Give  her  ?    Leave  her  to  him  ! 

SALADIN. 

True  ;  for  what  right  has  Nathan  over  her, 
If  he  be  not  her  father  ?     Who  preserved 
Her  life,  alone  can  claim  the  rights  of  him 
Who  gave  it. 

SITTAH. 

How  if  you  should  place  the  maiden 
Beneath  your  own  protection,  Saladin — 
At  once  withdraw  her  from  her  wrongful  keeper  ? 

SALADIN 
Would  that  be  necessary  ? 

SITTAH, 

Necessary 

Indeed  'tis  not ;  my  curiosity 
Alone  suggests  the  counsel.     There  are  men 
Of  whom  I'd  know  at  once  what  girl  they  love. 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  l6l 

SALADIN. 
Send  for  her  then. 

SITTAH. 
Have  I  permission,  brother  ? 

SALADIN. 

Spare  Nathan  only  ;  Nathan  must  not  think 
We  want  to  force  her  from  him. 

SITTAH. 

. 

Have  no  fear. 
SALADIX. 
And  I  myself  must  learn  what  keeps  Al-Hafi. 


SCENE   VI. 

The  open  court  of  Nathan's  house,  looking  toward  the 
palms,  as  in  first  scene  of  first  act.  Some  of  the 
wares  therein  mentioned  are  lying  about  unpacked. 
NATHAN  and  DAJA. 

DAJA. 

Oh,  all  is  beautiful — all  exquisite  ! 
All — such  as  only  you  could  give.     Whence  came 
That  silver  stuff  with  golden  vines  upon  it  ? 
How  costly  was  it  ? — That's  a  wedding-dress  ! 
No  queen  could  want  a  better. 
14* 


1 62  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

NATHAN. 

Wedding-dress  ! 
Why  wedding-dress  ? 

DAJA. 

That  was  not  in  your  mind 

When  you  were  buying ;  but  that  it  must  be,  Nathan ; 
No  other  one  than  that.     Tis  as  'twere  made 
To  grace  a  bridal.     See  ;  the  ground  of  silver, 
A  type  of  innocence  ;  the  golden  streams 
That  twine  themselves  in  all  directions  on  it, 
A  type  of  riches.     Perfect,  is  it  not  ? 

NATHAN. 

What  fancies  are  you  weaving  ?     Whose  the  dress 
That  you're  so  learnedly  interpreting  ? 
Are  you  the  bride  ? 

DAJA. 
I? 

NATHAN. 
Who  then  ? 

DAJA. 

I  ?     Good  heavens ! 

NATHAN. 

Who  then  ?  Whose  wedding-dress  ?  All  this  is  yours, 
Yours  only. 

DAJA. 
Mine?     All  meant  for  me — not  Recha? 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  163 

NATHAN. 

Another  bale  holds  those  I  brought  for  Recha. 
Away  with  them  !  off  with  your  silken  stuffs  ! 

DAJA. 

No,  tempter ;  all  the  treasures  of  the  world 
I  would  not  touch,  unless  you  swear  to  me 
This  single  opportunity  to  seize, 
Whose  like  heaven  scarce  a  second  time  will  grant. 

NATHAN. 
How  seize  ? — the  opportunity  for  what  ? 

DAJA. 

Feign  not  such  ignorance  ! — In  short,  the  Templar 
Loves  Recha.     Give  her  to  him.     Thus  your  sin, 
Whose  secret  I  can  keep  for  you  no  longer, 
Is  ended ;  Recha  is  restored  to  Christians — 
Becomes  herself  again — will  be  again 
What  at  the  first  she  was  ;  and  all  your  kindness, 
For  which  no  words  can  give  you  fitting  thanks, 
Heaps  coals  of  fire  no  more  upon  your  head. 

NATHAN. 

The  same  old  story  to  another  tune, 
For  which,  I  fear,  it  has  no  sense  or  measure. 

DAJA. 
How  so  ? 

NATHAN. 
Against  the  Templar  have  I  naught. 


1 64  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

Rather  to  him  than  any  in  the  world 

Would  I  give  Recha.    But — you  must  have  patience. 

DAJA. 
Patience  !  that's  your  old  story  o'er  again. 

NATHAN. 

Yet  a  few  days  have  patience. — See,  who  comes? 
A  brother  from  the  convent  ?     Ask  his  pleasure. 

DAJA. 
What  can  he  want  ? 

[She  approaches  and  questions  him. 

NATHAN. 

Give — and  before  he  asks. — 
(Could  I  approach  the  Knight,  yet  tell  him  not 
The  motive  of  my  curiosity  ! 
Were  that  revealed  and  my  suspicion  false, 
The  secret  of  her  birth  is  told  in  vain.) 
What  is  it  ? 

DAJA. 
He  would  speak  with  you. 

NATHAN. 

Admit  him ; 
And  leave  us. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  165 


SCENE   VII. 
NATHAN  and  the  LAY-BROTHER. 

NATHAN. 

(Would  that  Recha's  father  still 
I  might  remain  ! — Why  can  I  not,  e'en  though 
Without  the  name  ? — That  she  herself  would  give, 
Did  she  but  know  how  gladly  I  would  own  it.) 
What  can  I  do  to  serve  you,  brother  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Little. — 
I'm  glad  to  see  that  Nathan  keeps  in  health. 

NATHAN. 
You  know  me  then  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Who  knows  you  not  ?     Your  name 
Has  been  imprinted  in  too  many  hands. 
For  many  years  has  it  been  writ  in  mine. 

NATHAN  {feeling  for  his  purse). 
Come,  brother,  come ;  let  me  refresh  it. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Thanks ! 

I  take  no  alms  ;  'twere  stealing  from  the  poorer. — 
With  your  permission,  I'd  refresh  in  you 


1 66  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

The  imprint  of  my  own  ;  for  I  can  boast 
That  in  your  hand  a  thing  of  no  small  value 
By  me  was  laid. 

NATHAN. 

Your  pardon — I  am  shamed  ! 
Say  what  it  was,  and  take  seven  times  its  worth 
As  an  atonement. 

LAY-BROTHER. 
Hark,  while  I  shall  tell 
How  first  to-day  the  memory  of  that  trust 
By  me  confided  to  you  was  awakened. 

NATHAN. 
Trust  you  confided  me  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Not  long  ago, 

On  Quarantana,  near  to  Jericho, 
I  dwelt — a  hermit.     Arab  robbers  came, 
Destroyed  my  cell  and  little  house  of  God, 
And  took  me  captive  ;  but  I  happily 
Escaped  their  hands,  and  to  the  Patriarch 
I  hither  fled  to  beg  another  place, 
Where  I  might  serve  my  God  in  solitude 
Until  my  blessed  end. 

NATHAN. 

I'm  on  the  rack, 

Good  brother.    Make  it  brief !    The  trust — the  trust 
Confided  to  me ! 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  l6j 

LAY-BROTHER. 
Yet  a  moment,  Nathan. 
The  earliest  vacant  hermitage  on  Tabor 
The  Patriarch  promised  me,  and  bade  me  stay 
Meanwhile  within  the  convent  as  a  brother. 
There  am  I  now,  and  hundred  times  a  day 
I  long  for  Tabor  ;  for  the  Patriarch 
Puts  every  loathsome  errand  on  me.     Thus — 

NATHAN. 
Be  quick,  I  pray  you. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

This  is  it. — A  Jew, 

So  some  one  whispered  in  his  ear  to-day, 
Is  living  here  among  us,  who  has  trained 
A  Christian  child  as  though  she'd  been  his  daughter. 

NATHAN  (amazed). 
What  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Hear  me  out ! — When  he  commissions  me 
To  ferret  out  this  Jew  without  delay, 
No  matter  where  ;  and  flies  into  a  passion 
Against  so  black  a  crime,  which  he  esteems 
The  very  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost — 
The  sin,  that  is,  which  of  all  other  sins 
Brings  greatest  guilt  upon  us  ;  though,  thank  God, 
We  know  not  well  in  what  that  sin  consists — 
Then  suddenly  my  conscience  was  awakened  ; 
The  thought  arose  that  possibly  myself, 


1 68  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

In  years  gone  by,  had  furnished  the  occasion 
For  this  unpardonable  sin.     For  say, 
Did  not  a  groom  deliver  to  your  care, 
Some  eighteen  years  ago,  an  infant  child  ? 

NATHAN. 
How  say  you  ? — 'Twas  indeed — yes,  surely — 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Nathan, 
Look  at  me  well ! — That  groom  was  I ! 

NATHAN. 

Was  you  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

The  Knight  from  whom  I  brought  it  you  was  named, 
If  I  mistake  not,  Filneck — Wolf  von  Filneck. 

NATHAN. 
You're  right. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

The  mother  had  but  lately  died ; 
The  father  was  commanded  suddenly 
To  throw  himself  on — Gazza,  as  I  think, 
Where  the  poor  baby  could  not  follow  him, 
And  so  was  sent  to  you.     'Twas  in  Darun, 
I  think,  we  found  you. 

NATHAN. 
Right ! 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  169 

LAY-BROTHER. 

It  were  no  wonder 

If  memory  played  me  false ;  so  many  masters 
I've  served,  and  this  one  for  too  brief  a  season. 
At  Askalon  soon  afterward  he  fell. 
A  man  to  love  he  was. 

NATHAN. 
He  was  indeed. 

How  many,  many  services  I  owe  him  ! 
He  more  than  once  preserved  me  from  the  sword. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Good  ;  all  the  readier  must  you  then  have  been 
To  adopt  his  little  child. 

NATHAN. 

You  may  believe  it ! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Where  is  she,  then  ?     She  surely  is  not  dead  ! 
Grant  she  may  not  have  died  !     If  no  one  else 
Have  learned  her  story,  happy  is  her  fate. 

NATHAN. 
You  think  so  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Trust  me,  Nathan  ;  thus  I  argue  ; 
If  close  beside  the  good  which  I  propose 
Great  evil  lurk,  I  leave  the  good  undone  ; 
Since  of  the  evil  can  be  little  doubt, 


iyO  KATHA2?    THE    WISE. 

But  of  the  good  there's  much.      'Twas  natural 
If  you  would  train  the  Christian's  daughter  well, 
To  train  her  as  your  own. — This  have  you  done 
In  love  and  truth — but  to  be  so  rewarded  ? 
I'll  not  believe  it. — Wiser  had  it  been 
The  Christian  to  have  trained  at  second-hand 
A  Christian  ;  but  you  would  not  then  have  loved 
The  little  daughter  of  your  friend  ;  and  children 
Need  love,  though  but  a  wild  beast's  love  it  be, 
In  those  first  years,  above  Christianity. 
Christianity  will  still  find  time  enough. 
Have  but  the  child  in  health  and  innocence 
Grown  up  before  your  eyes,  in  sight  of  God 
She's  as  she  was. — Has  not  Christianity 
Its  root  in  Judaism  ?     It  oft  has  vexed, 
Provoked  me  e'en  to  tears,  to  see  how  Christians 
Forget  our  Saviour  was  himself  a  Jew. 

NATHAN. 

Good  Brother,  you  must  intercede  for  me 
When  hatred  and  hypocrisy  shall  rise 
Against  me  for  a  deed — ah,  for  a  deed — 
You,  you  alone  shall  know  it.     Bear  it  with  you- 
Into  your  grave.      Ne'er  yet  has  vanity 
Seduced  me  into  telling  it  to  man. 
I  tell  it  only  to  yourself.  '  I  tell  it 
To  pious  simplicity  alone  ;  for  that 
Alone  can  know  what  victories  over  self 
Are  possible  to  the  devout  believer. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  IJl 

LAY-BROTHER. 
Your  heart  is  stirred  ;  the  tears  are  in  your  eyes  ! 

NATHAN. 

You  found  me  at  Darun — the  child  and  you. 
You  did  not  know  that  Christians  just  before 
Had  murdered  all  the  Jews  that  were  in  Gath — 
Men,  women,  children  ;  knew  not  that  my  wife 
And  sons,  seven  hopeful  sons,  were  there  among 

them, 

And  in  my  brother's  house,  where  they  had  fled 
For  safety,  must  have  perished  in  the  flames. 

LAY-BROTHER. 
All-gracious  God  ! 

NATHAN. 

Three  days  and  nights  I'd  lain 
In  dust  and  ashes  before  God,  and  wept 
When  you  arrived.     Wept  ?     I  had  wrestled  hard 
At  times  with  God  ;  had  stormed  and  raved  ;   had 

cursed 

Myself  and  all  the  world  ;  had  sworn  a  hate 
Against  the  Christians,  unappeasable. 

LAY-BROTHER. 
I  can  believe  it ! 

NATHAN. 

Gradually  my  reason 

Returned  to  me.     She  spoke  with  gentle  voice  : 
"And  yet  God  is  :  e'en  this  was  God's  decree  ! 


172  NATHAX   THE    WISE. 

Up,  then  !  and  practise  what  you've  long  believed. 

To  practise  cannot  be  more  difficult 

Than  to  believe,  if  you  but  will.     Rise  up  !" 

I  stood  erect  and  cried  to  God  :   "I  will ! 

Oh,  will  Thou  that  I  will !" — Dismounting  then, 

You  handed  me  the  child,  wrapped  in  your  cloak. 

All  that  you  said  to  me,  or  I  to  you, 

Has  been  forgot.     I  know  but  this  :  I  took 

The  child ;  I  laid  it  on  my  bed  ;  I  kissed  it ; 

I  threw  myself  upon  my  knees,  and  sobbed, 

"O  God  !  of  seven,  Thou  grantest  me  one  again  !' 

LAY-BROTHER. 

You  are  a  Christian,  Nathan  !     Yes,  by  heaven, 
You  are  a  Christian  !     Never  was  a  better  ! 

NATHAN. 

What  makes  of  me  a  Christian  in  your  eyes, 
Makes  you  in  mine  a  Jew. — Happy  for  both  ! 
But  let  us  not  unman  each  other  longer. 
This  calls  for  deeds. — Although  a  sevenfold  love 
Soon  bound  me  to  this  lonely  stranger  girl — 
Although  the  thought  of  losing  all  my  sons 
Again  in  her  is  death — if  Providence 
Should  claim  her  back  from  me,  I  will  obey. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

That  perfects  all !  That  was  the  very  counsel 
My  heart  had  longed  to  give  you,  and  already 
Had  it  been  prompted  by  your  own  good  spirit. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  173 

NATHAN. 

Only  must  not  the  very  first  who  comes 
Expect  to  tear  her  from  me  ! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

* 

Surely  not ! 

NATHAN. 

Who  has  no  greater  right  to  her  than  I, 
Must  prove  at  least  an  earlier — 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Surely,  surely  ! 

NATHAN. 
Which  nature  and  the  ties  of  blood  confer. 

LAY-BROTHER. 
That  I  acknowledge. 

NATHAN. 

Name  me  then  the  man 
Who  bears  relationship  to  her  as  brother, 
Or  uncle,  cousin — any  kith  or  kin  : 
To  him  I'll  not  refuse  her — her  so  formed 
By  nature  and  by  training  to  become 
The  jewel  of  every  house,  of  every  faith. — 
You  knew  your  master  and  his  lineage 
More  fully  than  myself,  I  hope. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

But  little. 
15* 


174  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

I  served  the  Knight,  as  you  already  know, 
Too  short  a  time. 

NATHAN. 

The  mother's  family, 
Know  you  not  that  at  least  ?     Was  she*a  Stauffen  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 
'Tis  possible.     Methinks  she  was. 

NATHAN. 

Her  brother, 

Was  he  not  Conrad  ?  was  he  not  a  Templar  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

If  I  mistake  not.     Stay  ;  I  have  a  book 
That  was  the  Knight's.     I  took  it  from  his  breast 
The  day  we  buried  him  at  Askalon. 

NATHAN. 
Well? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

There  are  prayers  in  it — a  breviary, 
We  call  it.     That,  thought  I,  a  Christian  man 
May  still  find  useful.     Not  myself  indeed  ; 
I  cannot  read — 

NATHAN. 
No  matter  !     To  the  point ! 

LAY-BROTHER. 
I  have  been  told  that  in  this  little  book, 


NATHAN    THE    WISE.  175 

At  the  beginning  and  the  end,  stand  written 
The  names  of  both  their  families,  inscribed 
With  his  own  hand. 

NATHAN. 

The  very  thing  we  want ! 

Run,  fetch  me  quick  this  book  !    Its  weight  in  gold 
I'll  give  you,  and  a  thousand  thanks  besides. 
Run! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Willingly  ;  but  'tis  in  Arabic 
The  Knight  has  written. 

NATHAN. 

No  matter ;  let  me  have  it ! 
God  !  if  I  might  the  maiden  still  retain, 
And  let  her  purchase  for  me  such  a  son  ! — 
Scarce  possible  ! — Well,  come  what  will  of  it ! — 
But  who  betrayed  it  to  the  Patriarch  ? 
I'll  not  forget  to  ask. — If  it  were  Daja  ! 


SCENE    VIII. 
DAJA  and  NATHAN. 

DAJA  (hurried  and  embarrassed}. 

Think,  Nathan  ! 

NATHAN. 

Well? 


176  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

DAJA. 

How  terrified  she  was, 
Poor  child  !    There  came  just  now  a  message  from — 

NATHAN. 
The  Patriarch  ? 

DAJA. 
From  the  Sultan's  sister,  Sittah. 

NATHAN. 
And  not  the  Patriarch  ? 

DAJA. 

Sittah  !     Hear  you  not  ? 
The  princess  Sittah  sends  for  her. 

NATHAN. 

Whom  ?     Recha  ? 

The  princess  send  for  her  ?     If  it  be  Sittah, 
And  not  the  Patriarch,  sends — 

DAJA. 

Why  think  of  him  ? 

NATHAN. 
Have  you  heard  naught  from  him  of  late  ?     Quite 

sure? 
And  naught  betrayed  to  him  ? 

DAJA. 

I,  him? 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  177 

NATHAN. 

But  say, 
Where  stand  the  messengers  ? 

DAJA. 

Before  the  house. 
NATHAN. 

'Twere  best  confer  with  them  in  person.     Come  ! 
If  but  the  Patriarch  have  no  hand  in  this  !       [Goes. 

DAJA. 

And  I — I  tremble  with  another  fear. 
The  fancied  only  daughter  of  a  Jew 
So  rich  as  he,  might  tempt  a  Mussulman. 
Tis  over  with  the  Templar — he  is  lost, 
If  I  accomplish  not  the  second  step, 
And  tell  the  girl  her  story, — Courage — courage  ! 
I'll  seize  the  earliest  moment  we're  alone — 
The  coming  one,  if  I  go  with  her  there. 
A  little  hint  of  it  upon  the  way 
Can  do  no  harm. — On  !    Now  or  never !   Courage  ! 

[Follows  him. 


iy8  NATHAN    THE    WISE. 


ACT    FIFTH. 


SCENE    I. 

A  room  in  Saladin's  palace,  where  the  money-bags  art 

still  lying. 
SALADIN  ;  soon  after,  -various  MAMELUKES. 

SALADIN  (as  he  enters). 

The  gold  still  there  !  and  none  can  find  the  dervise  ! 
He's  stumbled  on  some  chess-board  and  forgot 
Himself :  why  not  me  also  ! — Patience  ! — Well  ? 

A  MAMELUKE. 

The  longed-for  tidings,  Sultan  !     Sultan,  joy  ! 
The  caravan  approaches  from  Kahira 
With  seven  years'  tribute  from  the  fruitful  Nile. 

SALADIN. 

Good,  Ibrahim  ;  you're  a  welcome  messenger. — 
At  last,  at  last  !^-My  thanks  for  your  good  news  ! 

MAMELUKE  (wailing). 
(Out  with  them,  then  !) 

SALADIN. 

Why  wait  you  ?     You  may  go. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  179 

MAMELUKE. 
Naught  else  then  for  the  welcome  messenger  ? 

SALADIN. 
What  would  you  else  ? 

MAMELUKE. 

No  present  for  the  bearer  ? — 
I'm  then  the  first  whom  Saladin  has  learned 
To  pay  with  words.     What  honor  !     I  the  first 
He  haggles  with  ! 

SALADIN. 
Take  one  of  yonder  bags. 

MAMELUKE. 
Not  now ;  not  though  you  offered  me  the  whole. 

SALADIN. 

Defiant !     Come,  these  two  are  yours. — In  earnest? 
He  goes  ?  is  more  magnanimous  than  I  ? 
For  to  refuse  must  harder  be  for  him 
Than  'tis  for  me  to  give. — Here,  Ibrahim  ! — 
What  has  come  o'er  me  that  so  near  my  end 
Would  make  me  seem  another  than  myself? 
Will  Saladin  not  die  as  Saladin? 
Then  Saladin  he  must  not  live. 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

News,  Sultan  ! 


180  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

SALADIN. 
If  you  are  come  to  tell  me — 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

That  the  transport 
From  Egypt  has  arrived. 

SALADIN. 

I've  heard  already. 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 
Then  I  am  come  too  late. 

SALADIN. 

Wherefore  too  late  ? 
Bear  off  a  sack  or  two  for  your  good-will. 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 
Say  three ! 

SALADIN. 
If  you  can  count  as  much. — Go,  take  them  ! 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 
There's  still  a  third  to  come — if  come  he  can. 

SALADIN. 
How  so  ? 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 
I  know  not  but  his  neck  is  broken. 
Soon  as  we  knew  the  caravan  was  come, 
Each  started  off  full  speed.     The  foremost  fell. 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  l8l 

I  got  the  start  and  kept  it  to  the  city, 

Where  Ibrahim  had  more  knowledge  of  the  streets. 

SALADIN. 

But  he  who  fell,  my  friend  !     The  man  who  fell  ! 
Ride  back  to  meet  him  ! 

SECOND  MAMELUKE. 

That  indeed  will  I  ! 
If  he's  alive,  the  half  of  that  is  his.  [Goes. 

SALADIN. 

Another  noble  fellow  !     Who  besides 
Can  boast  such  Mamelukes  ?     May  I  not  think 
Twas  my  example  helped  to  fashion  them  ? 
Away  then  with  the  thought  that  at  the  last 
They  should  grow  used  to  any  other  ! 

THIRD  MAMELUKE. 

Sultan, — 
SALADIN. 
Was't  you  who  fell  ? 

THIRD  MAMELUKE. 

No.     I  but  come  to  announce 
That  Emir  Mansor,  leader  of  the  transport, 
Is  now  dismounting. 

SALADIN. 

Bring  him  hither — quick  ! 
Ah,  here  he  is  ! 


1 82  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SCENE    II. 
EMIR  MANSOR  and  SALADIN. 

SALADIN. 

You're  welcome,  Emir,  welcome  ! 
How  has  all  gone  with  you  ? — O  Mansor,  Mansor, 
You  kept  us  waiting  long. 

MANSOR. 

This  letter  tells 

What  tumult  in  Thebais  your  Abulkassem 
Was  forced  to  quell,  ere  it  was  safe  to  start. 
I  made  all  possible  dispatch  in  coining. 

SALADIN. 

I  will  believe  you. — Take  at  once,  good  Mansor — 
And  gladly  will  you  not  ? — another  escort ; 
For  you  must  on  at  once  to  Lebanon, 
With  more  than  half  this  treasure  to  my  father. 

MANSOR. 
Right  willingly  ! 

SALADIN. 

Make  not  your  guard  too  weak. 
Things  are  no  longer  safe  on  Lebanon. 
Have  you  not  heard  ? — the  Templars  are  astir. 
Be  on  your  guard  ! — But  come,  where  halts  the 

transport  ? 
I'd  see  and  urge  it  forward. — Then  to  Sittah  ! 


NATHAN    THE    WISE.  1 83 

SCENE    III. 
The  palms  before  Nathan's  house. 

THE  TEMPLAR  (walking  to  and  fro], 

I  will  not  enter. — He'll  appear  at  last. — 

How  quick,  how  eager  to  observe  me  once  ! 

The  time  may  come  when  e'en  my  frequent  presence 

Before  his  house  he  will  forbid. — Hm — hm  ! 

But  I  am  most  unreasonable  too. — 

Why  so  enraged  against  him  ?     As  he  said, 

He  yet  has  naught  refused  ;  and  Saladin 

Has  promised  to  persuade  him. — Does  the  Christian 

Hold  me  in  closer  bonds  than  him  the  Jew  ? — 

Who  knows  himself?    Why  should  I  else  begrudge 

This  little  theft,  that  with  abundant  pains 

He  wrested  from  the  Christians  ?     Little  theft  ? 

A  creature  such  as  she  !     A  creature  ! — whose  ? 

Not  of  the  slave  who  set  the  block  adrift 

On  life's  waste  shore,  and  there  deserted  it. 

Nay,  rather  of  the  artist  who  conceived 

In  the  rejected  block  the  godlike  form, 

And  brought  it  into  life. — Recha's  true  father 

Must  be,  despite  the  Christian  who  begot  her, 

Must  be  in  all  eternity  the  Jew. — 

If  I  conceive  her  as  a  Christian  maiden, 

Deprived  of  all  that  only  such  a  Jew 


1 84  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

Could  give — say,  heart — what  were  her  charm  for 

you  ? 

But  little,  nothing  ! — e'en  her  smile  were  naught 
But  gentle  soft  contraction  of  the  muscles  ; 
And  that  which  prompts  it  would  be  undeserving 
Of  all  the  grace  it  wears  upon  her  lips. 
No,  no — not  e'en  her  smile  !     As  fair  or  fairer 
I've  seen  bestowed  upon  conceit  and  folly, 
On  mocking  jests,  and  flatterers  and  gallants. 
Did  such  enchant  me  or  inspire  the  wish 
To  flutter  out  my  life  within  their  beams? 
I  was  unconscious  of  it ;  yet  am  angry 
With  him  by  whom  alone  this  higher  charm 
Was  given. — Deserved  I  then  the  irony 
Of  Saladin  at  parting  ?     Shame  enough 
That  Saladin  should  think  it !     Oh,  how  small, 
How  despicable  must  I  seem  to  him  ! — 
All  for  a  girl !— Curd  !  Curd  !     Allow  it  not ! 
Assert  your  manhood  ! — 'Twas  but  Daja's  gossip  ; 
It  may  be  nothing  she  could  prove. — But  see  ! 
He  comes  at  last,  engrossed  in  talk.     With  whom  ? 
My  friend  the  Brother  !     Then  he  knows  it  all ; 
Has  been  discovered  to  the  Patriarch  ! 
What  has  my  madness  done  ?     Oh  that  one  spark 
Of  passion  should  consume  our  reason  thus  ! 
Decide  at  once  what  next ! — I'll  stand  aside, 
And  watch  if  they  may  not  part  company. 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  185 


SCENE    IV. 
NATHAN  and  the  LAY-BROTHER. 

NATHAN. 
Thanks  once  again,  good  Brother  ! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Mine  to  you. 
NATHAN. 

Your  thanks  to  me  ?  for  what  ?     My  obstinacy 
In  pressing  on  you  what  you  do  not  want  ? 
If  yours  had  yielded — good  ;  but  you  were  firm — 
You  would  not  be  a  richer  man  than  I. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Besides,  the  book's  not  mine  ;  it  is  the  daughter's — 
The  daughter's  sole  paternal  heritage. — 
She  has  yourself  indeed.     God  grant  that  ne'er 
You  may  repent  your  goodness  to  her  ! 

NATHAN. 

Never  ; 
That  can  I  never  !     Fear  not ! 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Nay,  but  then — 

The  Patriarchs  and  the  Templars — 
16* 


1 86  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

NATHAN. 

Can  inflict 

No  evil  that  shall  make  me  aught  regret. — 
Enough  of  that ! — But  are  you  well  assured 
A  Templar  set  your  Patriarch  on  the  scent  ? 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Another  scarce  seems  possible.     A  Templar 
Had  hardly  left  him  when  I  heard  the  story. 

NATHAN. 

There  is  but  one  in  all  Jerusalem, 
And  him  I  know  :  he  is  a  friend ;  a  man, 
Young,  noble,  frank. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Right ;  'tis  the  very  same. 
A  difference  lies  between  what  one  must  seem 
Before  the  world,  and  what  one  is. 

NATHAN. 

Too  true. — 

Whoe'er  he  be,  I  dare  his  worst  or  best ! 
Your  book,  good  brother,  bids  me  all  defy. 
I  go  with  it  straightway  to  Saladin. 

LAY-BROTHER. 
Good  luck  to  you  !     Here1  will  I  leave  you  then. 

NATHAN. 

Without  a  sight  of  her  ?  Come  soon  again, 
And  often. — If  the  Patriarch  but  to-day 

• 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  187 

Might  not  be  told  ! — Yet  wherefore  ?     Nay ;  this  day 
Disclose  whate'er  you  will. 

LAY-BROTHER. 

Not  I.     Farewell !  [Goes. 

NATHAN. 

Forget  us  not,  good  Brother  ! — Gracious  God  ! 
Why  can  I  not  fall  down  upon  my  knees 
Beneath  this  open  heaven  !     How  has  this  knot, 
So  long  my  secret  terror,  come  unloosed 
As  of  itself!     How  light  my  heart  has  grown 
To  think  there's  nothing  further  in  the  world 
I  need  to  hide  ;  that  I  can  walk  erect 
Before  my  fellow-men  as  in  Thy  sight, 
O  Thou,  who  needest  not  to  judge  of  man 
According  to  his  deeds — so  seldom  his  ! 


SCENE    V. 
NATHAN  and  the  TEMPLAR. 

TEMPLAR. 
Wait ;  take  me  with  you,  Nathan  ;  wait ! 

NATHAN. 

Who  calls? 

You,  Knight  ?     Where  were  you  that  I  met  you  not 
Before  the  Sultan  ? 


1 88  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

We  mistook  each  other. 
Take  it  not  ill ! 

NATHAN. 
Not  I !  but  Saladin— 

TEMPLAR. 
You  just  had  left  him  when — 

NATHAN. 

You  spoke  with  him  ? 
Then  all  is  well. 

TEMPLAR. 
But  he  would  speak  with  both. 

NATHAN. 
So  much  the  better.     Come  !     I'm  on  my  way. 

TEMPLAR. 
May  I  inquire  who  quitted  you  but  now  ? 

NATHAN. 
You  do  not  know  him  then  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

If  it  were  not 

That  honest  Brother  who  is  oft  employed 
To  start  the  Patriarch's  game. 

NATHAN. 

May  be  the  same ; 
He's  with  the  Patriarch. 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  189 

TEMPLAR. 

Not  a  bad  device 
To  make  simplicity  the  villain's  scout. 

NATHAN. 
It  must  be  dull  simplicity — not  honest. 

TEMPLAR. 
No  Patriarch  would  acknowledge  any  honest. 

NATHAN. 

I'd  vouch  for  this.     The  man  would  ne'er  assist 
His  Patriarch  in  aught  evil. 

TEMPLAR. 

So  at  least 
He'd  have  us  think. — But  said  he  naught  of  me? 

NATHAN. 
He  named  you  not — knows  not  your  name,  perhaps. 

TEMPLAR. 
No  ;  hardly. 

NATHAN, 
Of  a  Templar  said  he  something — 

TEMPLAR. 
What? 

NATHAN. 
That  which  clearly  proved  he  meant  not  you. 


IQO  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 
Who  knows  ?     Let's  hear. 


Before  the  Patriarch- 


N  AT  HAN. 
That  one  of  you  accused  me 


TEMPLAR. 

One  accused  you  ?     No  ; 

There,  with  his  leave,  he  lied.     Believe  me,  Nathan  ! 
I'm  not  a  man  who  would  disown  his  deeds. 
What  I  have  done,  I've  done.     Nor  am  I  one 
Who  would  defend  his  every  deed  as  right. 
Why  be  ashamed  of  a  mistake  ?     Resolved 
Am  I  to  remedy  it ;  and  convinced, 
Man  may  redeem  his  errors. — Hear  me,  Nathan  ! 
I  am  the  Brother's  Templar  who,  he  says, 
Accused  you  to  the  Patriarch.     Well  you  know 
The  provocation  which  had  made  my  blood 
Rush  boiling  through  my  veins.    Fool !— I  had  come 
With  all  my  heart  and  soul  to  throw  myself 
Into  your  arms.     How  coldly  you  received  me  ; 
With  what  indifference — an  indifference  worse 
Than  coldness  ;  how  intent  you  were  politely 
To  rid  yourself  of  me  ;  how  you  contrived 
Ingenious  questions  in  the  place  of  answers  ; — 
These  things  I  must  not  dare  to  think  of  yet, 
If  I  would  keep  my  temper. — Hear  me,  Nathan  ! — 
In  this  excitement,  Daja  stole  upon  me, 


NAT  a  Ay   THE    WISE.  1 91 

And  flung  her  secret  in  my  face.     The  key 
It  seemed  to  all  your  contradictions. 

NATHAN. 

How? 

TEMPLAR. 

Nay,  hear  me  out ! — I  fancied  you  unwilling 
To  give  again  into  a  Christian  hand 
What  from  the  Christians  you  had  stolen,  and  thought 
By  furnishing  the  arms  against  your  life, 
To  silence  you  for  good. 

NATHAN. 

For  good  you  thought ! 
I  see  no  good  about  it. 

TEMPLAR. 

Hear  me,  Nathan  ! 

I  grant  I  did  not  well.     You  are  not  guilty. 
That  foolish  Daja  knows  not  what  she  says. 
She  likes  you  not ;  hoped  thus  to  injure  you, 
May  be — may  be  !     I  am  a  simpleton — 
Forever  in  extremes  ; — now  much  too  hot, 
And  now  as  much  too  cold.     That  grant  I  too  ! 
Forgive  me,  Nathan  ! 

NATHAN. 

If  you  take  me  so — 

TEMPLAR. 
But  one  word  more.     I  sought  the  Patriarch, 


192  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

But  named  you  not.     That,  as  I  said,  was  false. 
I  only  set  before  him  such  a  case 
To  learn  his  judgment.     That  I  might  have  spared. 
Knew  I  him  not  already  for  a  knave  ? 
Why  not  have  called  you  to  account  myself? 
Wherefore,  poor  girl,  expose  her  to  the  risk 
Of  losing  such  a  father  ? — What  befell  ? 
The  Patriarch's  baseness,  faithful  to  itself, 
Restored  me  to  my  senses. — Hear  me,  Nathan — 
Hear  to  the  end  !     Suppose  he  knew  your  name — 
What  then  ?     He  has  no  right  to  take  the  girl 
If  she  belong  to  any  but  yourself. 
From  your  home  only  can  he  have  the  right 
To  drag  her  to  the  cloister. — Therefore  give — 
Give  her  to  me,  and  let  him  come.     Aha  ! 
Let  him  beware  how  he  shall  take  my  wife  ! 
Give  her  me — quick  ! — be  she  your  child  or  not ! 
A  Christian,  Jewess,  nothing — naught  care  I ! 
I'll  put  no  questions  to  you — neither  now 
Nor  ever  in  my  life.     Be  as  it  may  ! 

NATHAN. 

Deem  you  it  necessary  for  me  then 
To  hide  the  truth  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
Be  as  it  may  ! 

NATHAN. 

I  ne'er 
To  you  or  any  who  had  claim  to  know 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  193 

Denied  she  was  a  Christian,  and  to  me 
But  an  adopted  daughter.     Why,  you  say, 
Conceal  it  from  herself?     To  her  alone 
Need  I  excuse  myself. 

TEMPLAR. 
Not  e'en  to  her  ! 

Let  her  ne'er  look  on  you  with  other  eyes. 
Oh,  spare  her  the  disclosure  !  You  alone 
Have  still  disposal  of  her.  Give  her  me  ! 
I  pray  you,  Nathan,  give  her  me  !  I  only 
Again  can  save  her  to  you,  and  I  will. 

NAT-HAN. 
Could — could  !     No  longer  possible — too  late  ! 

TEMPLAR. 
How  so — too  late  ? 

NATHAN. 
Thanks  to  the  Patriarch — 

TEMPLAR. 
Thanks  to   the   Patriarch  !     Wherefore   thanks  to 

him  ? 
Has  he  desired  to  earn  our  thanks  ?     For  what  ? 

NATHAN. 

That  we  have  learned  her  family  ;  have  learned 
Into  whose  hands  she  may  be  given  up. 

TEMPLAR. 
The  thanks  I  leave  to  those  he  has  obliged. 

17 


1 94  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

NATHAN. 
From  theirs  must  you  receive  her  now,  not  mine. 

TEMPLAR. 

Poor  Recha,  how  must  all  this  fall  on  you  ! 
What  were  a  happiness  to  other  orphans 
Is  your  misfortune. — Nathan  ! — Where  are  they, 
These  relatives  ? 

NATHAN. 
Where  are  they? 

TEMPLAR. 

Who  are  they? 
NATHAN. 
A  brother  first ;  from  him  she  must  be  sought. 

TEMPLAR. 

A  brother  !     And  this  brother,  what  is  he  ? 
Priest — soldier?     Let  me  hear  what  hope  I  have. 

NATHAN. 
Neither — or  both.     I've  not  yet  learned  him  quite. 

TEMPLAR. 
What  more  ? 

NATHAN. 

An  honest  man  ;  to  whom  our  Recha 
May  well  be  trusted. 

TEMPLAR. 
Yet  a  Christian  ! — Nathan, 


NATHAN   THE   WISE.  1 95 

How  can  I  understand  you  ? — Be  not  angry  ! — 
Must  she  not  play  the  Christian  with  the  Christians, 
And  take  at  last  the  character  she  plays  ? 
Will  not  the  grain  you  sowed  so  pure,  be  choked 
By  weeds  at  last  ?     And  you  so  careless  of  it ! 
This  notwithstanding  can  you  say — you  say — 
She  may  be  safely  trusted  with  her  brother? 

NATHAN. 

I  think  it — hope  it.     Should  she  want  for  aught 
With  him,  has  she  not  still  yourself  and  me  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

Can  any  thing  be  wanting  her  with  him  ? 
Will  not  dear  brother  give  his  little  sister 
Enough  of  food  and  clothing,  finery 
And  dainties  ?     What  can  little  sister  want 
Besides  ? — A  husband,  to  be  sure  !     Well,  well ; 
That  too,  in  time,  dear  brother  will  provide. 
They're  always  to  be  had  ;  and  all  the  better 
The  more  he  is  a  Christian. — Nathan,  Nathan  1 
Why  fashion  such  an  angel  to  be  marred 
By  other  men  ? 

NATHAN. 

Fear  not ;  she  will  remain 
Abundantly  deserving  of  our  love. 

TEMPLAR. 

Nay,  say  not  that ;  of  my  love  say  it  not ! 
My  love  will  brook  no  change  in  her — not  one ; 


196  NATHAN    THE    WISE, 

No  veriest  trifle — e'en  a  name. — But  hold  ! 
Has  a  suspicion  reached  her  of  her  fate  ? 

NATHAN. 
Perhaps  ;  yet  hardly  could  I  tell  from  whom. 

TEMPLAR. 

It  matters  not ; — I  must,  I  will  be  first 
To  let  her  know  the  fate  that  threatens  her. 
My  purpose  ne'er  to  see,  ne'er  speak  with  her 
Till  I  might  call  her  mine,  is  changed.     I  haste — 

NATHAN. 
Stay ;  whither  would  you  go  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

To  her  ;  to  her, 

To  learn  if  in  her  maiden  soul  there  lie 
Enough  of  manhood  for  the  one  resolve 
Which  only  would  be  worthy  of  her. 

NATHAN. 

What  ? 
TEMPLAR. 

To  let  her  heart  no  longer  dwell  on  you 
Or  on  her  brother — 

NATHAN. 
But?— 

TEMPLAR. 

To  follow  me ; 
Though  'twere  to  make  herself  a  Moslem's  wife. 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  197 

NATHAN. 

Stay  ;  you  would  find  her  not.     She  is  with  Sittah, 
The  Sultan's  sister. 

TEMPLAR. 
When  was  that — and  why  ? 

NATHAN. 
If  you  would  see  the  brother  with  them — come  ! 

TEMPLAR. 
Whose  brother  ?  Sittah's — Recha's  ? 

NATHAN. 

Both,  perhaps. 
But  come  with  me — I  pray  you,  come  with  me  ! 

\JLeads  him  away. 


SCENE    VI. 
Sittah's  harem.     SITTAH  and  RECHA  in  conversation. 

SITTAH. 

What  pleasure  shall  I  take  in  you,  sweet  child  ! 
But  be  not  so  reserved,  so  shy,  so  troubled  ; — 
Be  gay ;  more  talkative  ;  more  friendly  with  me. 

RECHA. 
Princess — 

SITTAH. 

No,  no  ;  not  Princess  :  call  me  Sittah — 
Your  friend — your  sister — mother,  if  you  will ! 
17* 


198  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

That  might  I  almost  be. — So  young,  so  wise, 

So  good ;  with  so  much  knowledge  ! — Ah,  how  much 

You  must  have  read  ! 

RECHA. 

I  must  have  read  ! — Ah,  Sittah, 
You're  laughing  at  your  foolish  little  sister. 
I  scarce  know  how  to  read.       v 

SITTAH. 

What?  story-teller! 
You  scarce  know  how  ? 

RECHA. 

My  father's  hand  a  little. 
I  thought  you  spoke  of  books. 

SITTAH. 

Yes,  yes — of  books. 
RECHA. 
No ;  I  should  find  it  hard  to  read  in  books. 

SITTAH. 
Are  you  in  earnest  ? 

RECHA. 

I  am  quite  in  earnest. 

My  father  cares  not  for  that  cold  book-learning 
That's  printed  on  the  brain  by  lifeless  signs. 

SITTAH. 

What  do  you  tell  me ! — Yet  he's  partly  right. 
Then  all  you  know — 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  199 

RECHA. 

Is  only  from  his  lips. 

Scarce  anything,  but  I  could  tell  you  how, 
And  where,  and  why,  my  father  taught  it  me. 

SITTAH. 

Thus  all  is  better  woven  into  one  : 
The  whole  soul  learns  at  once. 

RECHA. 

And  Sittah  too — 
Has  surely  little  read,  or  nothing. 

SITTAH. 

Why? 

I  would  not  boast  the  contrary ;  but  why  ? 
Your  reason  ;  tell  me  candidly — your  reason  ? 

RECHA. 

She  is  so  true  and  honest ;  so  unspoiled  ; 
Acts  out  herself  so  naturally  ; — 

SITTAH. 

Well? 

RE£HA. 

My  father  says  books  rarely  leave  us  so. 

SITTAH. 
How  wise  a  man  he  is  ! 

RECHA. 
Yes  ;  is  he  not  ? 


2OO  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SlTTAH. 

How  near  he  hits  the  mark  ! 

RECHA. 

Ah,  does  he  not  ? 
And  yet  this  father — 

SITTAH. 
What  disturbs  you,  love  ? 

RECHA. 
This  father — 

SITTAH. 
Heavens  !     You  weep  ? 

RECHA. 

This  father— Ah, 
I  must  speak  out ; — my  heart  must  have  relief ! 

[Throws  herself,  overpowered  by  her  /ears,  at 
Sitlah's  feet. 

SITTAH. 
Recha  !     What  ails  you,  child  ? 

RECHA. 

This  father — must — 
Ah,  must  I  lose  ! 

SITTAH. 

Must  lose  your  father  !     Why  ? 
Compose  yourself! — Impossible  ! — Stand  up  ! 

RECHA. 

It  shall  not  be  in  vain  that  you  have  offered 
To  be  my  friend,  my  sister  I 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  2OI 

SlTTAH. 

I  am  both. 
But  rise  ;  else  must  I  call  for  help. 

RECHA  (controls  herself ,  and  rises). 
Forgive  ; 

Your  pardon  ! — In  my  grief  I  had  forgot 
To  whom  I  spoke.     No  moaning,  no  despair 
Avails  with  Sittah.     Naught  has  power  with  her 
But  cold,  calm  reason.     Whosesoever  cause 
That  pleads  before  her,  conquers. 

SITTAH. 

Well  ? 
RECHA. 

My  friend, 

My  sister,  suffer  not — oh,  suffer  not 
Another  father  to  be  forced  upon  me  ! 

SITTAH. 

Another  father  forced  upon  you,  love  ? 
Who  has  the  power,  the  wish  to  do  it  ? 

RECHA. 

Who? 

My  good,  bad  Daja  has  the  wish,  and  claims 
The  power.   Know  you  her  not,  this  good,  bad  Daja  ? 
God  pardon  her  for  it — reward  her  for  it ! 
Such  good  as  she  has  done  me — and  such  harm  ! 

SITTAH. 
Done  harm  to  you  !     Small  good  is  in  her  then. 


202  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

RECHA. 
Nay,  much — how  much  ! 

SlTTAH. 

Who  is  she  ? 

RECHA. 

She's  a  Christian, 

Who  tended  me  in  childhood  with  such  care ; 
You  cannot  think  !  She  scarcely  let  me  miss 
My  mother. — God  reward  her  ! — But  besides, 
She  so  distressed  and  tortured  me  ! 

SITTAH. 

With  what  7 
And  wherefore  ? 

RECHA. 

Ah,  poor  woman  !     As  I  said, 
She  is  a  Christian,  and  from  very  love 
Must  torture  me.     She  is  of  those  fanatics 
Who  think  they  know  the  universal,  true, 
And  only  road  to  God. 

SITTAH. 

I  understand. 

RECHA. 

And  feel  a  charge  upon  them  to  conduct 
The  feet  of  every  wanderer  thitherward. 
They  scarce  can  otherwise.     If  it  be  true 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  203 

This  is  the  only  road  that  leads  aright, 

Can  they  resign  themselves  to  see  their  friends 

Advancing  on  another  which  descends 

To  death,  eternal  death  ?     They  needs  must  love 

And  hate  one  at  the  selfsame  time. — Not  that 

Has  forced  from  me  such  loud  complaints 

Against  her.     Gladly  would  I  still  have  borne 

Her  sighs  and  prayers,  her  threats  and  warnings—)' 

gladly  ! 

For  good  and  useful  were  the  thoughts  they  roused. 
Besides,  how  not  be  flattered  too  at  heart 
At  being  held  so  precious  and  so  dear 
By  any,  that  the  thought  of  losing  us 
For  all  eternity  cannot  be  borne  ? 

SITTAH. 
'Tis  true. 

RECHA. 

But  this — this  is  too  much  !     'Gainst  this 
I've  no  defence  ;  not  patience,  not  reflection, 
Not  anything ! 

SITTAH. 
What  ?     Whom  ? 

RECHA. 

What  she  but  now 
Pretended  to  reveal. 

SITTAH. 
Reveal  but  now  ? 


204  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

RECHA. 

But  now. — Upon  our  way  to  you  we  neared 
A  ruined  Christian  temple.     Suddenly 
She  stopped  ;  appeared  to  struggle  with  herself; 
Directed  now  to  heaven  and  now  on  me 
Her  streaming  eyes.      "Come,"  finally  she  said, 
"We'll   take    the    shortest  path   through    yonder 

temple. ' ' 

She  went ;  I  followed,  gazing  with  affright 
Upon  the  tottering  ruins.     Once  again 
She  stopped  ;  and  I  beheld  myself  with  her 
Before  the  steps  of  a  decaying  altar. 
Ah,  how  I  felt,  when  here,  with  burning  tears 
And  wringing  of  her  hands,  she  threw  herself 
Upon  the  ground  before  me  ! — 

SITTAH. 

Darling  child  ! 

RECHA. 

And  by  the  Deity  who  there  had  heard 
So  many  prayers,  and  worked  so  many  wonders, 
Conjured  me — yes,  with  looks  of  true  compassion — 
Conjured  me  to  have  pity  on  myself  ! — 
At  least  to  pardon  her,  for  she  must  tell 
Her  Church's  claim  upon  me. 

SITTAH. 

Ah,  poor  girl ; 
"Hs  as  I  thought 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  205 

RECHA. 

I  had  been  born,  she  said, 
Of  Christian  parents  ;  I  had  been  baptized  ; 
I  was  not  Nathan's  child — he  not  my  father  ! 
God  !  God  !     He  not  my  father  !— Sittah  !  Sittah  ! 
Here  at  your  feet  again  behold  me — 

SITTAH. 

Recha  ! 
I  pray  you,  rise  !     My  brother  comes  !     Stand  up  ! 


SCENE    VII. 
SALADIN  and  the  preceding. 

SALADIN. 
What  trouble,  Sittah  ? 

SITTAH. 
She's  beside  herself! 

SALADIN. 
Who  is  it  ? 

SITTAH. 
You  remember — 

SALADIN. 

Nathan's  daughter ! 
What  ails  her  ? 

18 


2O6  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SlTTAH. 

Child,  control  yourself! — The  Sultan — 

RECHA  (her  head  bowed  to  the  ground,  drags  herself 

upon  her  knees  to  Saladirisfeef). 
I  rise  not ;  look  not  on  the  Sultan's  face ; 
Behold  not  on  his  brow  and  in  his  eyes 
The  bright  reflection  of  eternal  love 
And  justice,  till — 

SlTTAH. 

Rise ;  rise  ! 

RECHA. 

He  promise  me — 

SALADIN. 
I  promise  ; — be  it  what  it  may  ! 

RECHA. 

No  more 

Nor  less  than  this — to  leave  to  me  my  father, 
And  me  to  him.     I  know  not  who  besides 
Would  be  my  father ;  who  can  want  to  be. 
I  will  not  know. — But  is  it  only  blood 
That  makes  the  father — only  blood  ? 

SALADIN  (raising  her). 

I  see. 

Who  was  so  heartless  as  to  name  the  thing 
To  you  ?     Is  it  already  settled — proved  ? 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  2OJ 

RECHA. 

It  must  be  ; — Daja  says  'twas  from  my  nurse 
She  learned  it. 

SALADIN. 
From  your  nurse  ? 

RECHA. 

Who  felt  constrained 
Upon  her  death-bed  to  confess  it  to  her. 

SALADIN. 

Upon  her  death-bed  ?     Possibly  she  wandered. — 
But  were  it  true — you're  right !     The  blood  alone 
Makes  not  the  father — scarce  a  wild  beast's  father. 
At  most,  it  but  confers  the  earliest  right 
To  earn  the  name.     Fear  not ; — hark  to  my  counsel ! 
When  these  two  fathers  come  to  quarrel  for  you, 
Dismiss  them  both  and  take  the  third  ; — take  me 
To  be  your  father  ! 

SITTAH. 
Yes,  dear  Recha,  yes  ! 

SALADIN. 

I'd  make  a  right  good  father. — Hold  ; — still  better  ! 
What  need  of  fathers  ?     What  if  they  should  die  ? 
But  seek  betimes  for  one  who  would  brave  all 
To  live  for  you.     Has  none  such  yet  been  found  ? 

SITTAH. 
Make  her  not  blush  ! 


208  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

SALADIN. 

The  very  thing  I  wished  ! 
If  blushes  make  the  ugly  fair,  they  surely 
Will  make  the  fair  still  fairer. — I  have  bid 
Your  father,  Nathan,  hither,  and  another — 
Another  with  him.     Guess  you  not  his  name  ? 
Hither — with  your  permission,  Sittah. 

SITTAH. 

Brother ! 

SALADIN. 
Call  up  a  rosy  blush  for  him,  dear  child. 

RECHA. 
A  blush — for  whom  ? 

SALADIN. 

Ah,  little  hypocrite  ! 

Grow  pale  then,  if  you  choose  ; — just  as  you  will 
And  can. 

\_A  female  slave  enters  and  addresses  Siliah. 
Are  they  arrived  already  ? 

SITTAH. 

Good  ; 
You  may  admit  them. — It  is  they,  dear  brother ! 


NATHAN  THE  WISE.  209 

LAST    SCENE. 
NATHAN  and  the  TEMPLAR,  with  the  preceding. 

SALADIN. 

Welcome,  my  dear,  good  friends ! — You,  Nathan, you 
Must  I  address  the  first.     Send  you  and  fetch 
Your  money  back  whene'er  you  want  it. 

NATHAN. 

Sultan— 
SALADIN. 
Tis  now  my  turn  to  be  of  service ; — 

NATHAN. 

Sultan — 

SALADIN. 

The  caravan  is  come.     I'm  rich  again 
As  I've  not  been  for  many  a  day.     Come,  come  ; 
Say  what  you  need  to  start  some  enterprise 
Of  magnitude.     You  tradesmen,  like  ourselves, 
Can  scarce  have  too  much  money. 

NATHAN. 

Why  begin 

With  such  a  trifle  ? — There  are  weeping  eyes 
That  I  am  more  concerned  with  drying. — Recha  ! 

[Approaches  her. 

You  have  been  weeping ; — what  distresses  you  ? 
Are  you  not  still  my  daughter  ? 
1 8* 


2IO  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

RECHA. 

O  my  father ! 

NATHAN. 

We  understand  each  other.     'Tis  enough  ! — 
Be  cheerful ;  be  collected. — Let  your  heart 
Be  still  your  own  :  let  but  no  other  loss 
Have  threatened  that — your  father  is  not  lost ! 

RECHA. 
No  other ;  none. 

TEMPLAR. 

None  !     Then  I  was  deceived. 
What  we  fear  not  to  lose,  we  never  thought 
Nor  wished  to  own. — So  be  it. — That  changes  all. 
We  came  here,  Saladin,  at  your  command. 
But  I  misled  you  ; — take  no  further  trouble. 

SALADIN. 

Hasty  again,  young  man  !     Must  everything 
Concern  yourself — have  reference  but  to  you  ? 

TEMPLAR. 
But  Sultan — hear  you,  see  you  not  yourself? 

SALADIN. 

I  do  indeed ; — pity  you  made  not  sure 
Of  your  position. 

TEMPLAR. 
Tis  no  longer  doubtful. 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  211 

SALADIN. 

Who  thus  presumes  upon  a  benefit, 
Revokes  it.     What  you  saved  is  not  your  own 
Because  you  saved  it.     Else  as  good  a  hero 
Were  any  thief  whose  greed  will  brave  the  fire. 

[Approaches  Recha  to  lead  her  to  the  Templar, 
Come,  darling,  come  ;  be  not  too  strict  with  him. 
Were  he  aught  else,  were  he  less  hot  and  proud, 
He  might  not  have  preserved  you.     Let  the  one 
Excuse  the  other. — Come  ;  put  him  to  shame  ; 
Do  that  which  should  be  his — confess  your  love — 
Give  him  your  hand  ;  and  if  he  should  disdain  you — 
Should  he  forget  how  infinitely  more 
You  did  for  him  by  this  than  he  for  you — 
What  did  he  then  for  you  ?  get  singed  a  little  ! 
But  what  was  that  ? — then  has  he  naught  of  Assad, 
Naught  of  my  brother  ;  wears  his  likeness  only, 
And  not  his  heart. — Come,  love  ! 

SITTAH. 

Yes  ;  go,  love,  go  1 
Your  gratitude  would  deem  that  little — nothing. 

NATHAN. 
Hold,  Saladin  !  hold,  Sittah  ! 

SALADI>. 

What — you  also  ? 

NATHAN. 
There  is  another  has  a  right  to  speak. 


212  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

SALADIN. 

Who  doubts  it  ?     Such  a  foster-father,  Nathan, 
Unquestionably  has  a  voice — the  first, 
If  you  desire.     You  see  I  know  the  whole. 

NATHAN. 

Not  quite  the  whole. — I  speak  not  of  myself. 
There  is  another,  quite  another,  Sultan, 
Whom  I  entreat  to  hear  me  ere  he  speak. 

SALADIN. 
Who — who  ? 

NATHAN. 
Her  brother. 

SALADIN. 

Recha's  brother  ? 

NATHAN. 

Yes. 

RECHA. 
My  brother  !     Have  I  then  a  brother  ? 

TEMPLAR  (rousing  himself  from  his  brooding}. 

Where  ? 

Where  is  this  brother  ?     Not  yet  here  ?     'Twas  here 
I  was  to  meet  him. 

NATHAN. 
Patience  ! 


NATHAN   THE    WISE. 


213 


TEMPLAR. 

He's  imposed 
A  father  on  her — why  not  find  a  brother  ? 

SALADIN. 

That  is  too  much.  Shame,  Christian  !  A  suspicion 
So  base  would  ne'er  have  come  from  Assad's  lips. — 
Say  on  ! 

NATHAN. 

Forgive  him  !     I  forgive  him  gladly. 
Should  we  do  better,  circumstanced  like  him, 
And  young  ? 

{Approaching  the  Templar  kindly. 
Quite  natural  that  want  of  trust 
Should  breed  suspicion,  Knight.   Had  you  confessed 
Your  rightful  name  at  once — 

TEMPLAR. 

How? 

NATHAN. 

You're  no  Stauffen. 

TEMPLAF. 
Who  am  I  then  ? 

NATHAN. 
Your  name's  not  Curd  von  Stauffen. 

TEMPLAR. 
What  then  ? 


214  NATHAN    THE    WISS. 

NATHAN. 
'Tis  Leu  von  Filneck. 

TEMPLAR. 

How? 

NATHAN. 

You  start ! 

TEMPLAR.  » 

With  reason.     Who  asserts  it  ? 

NATHAN. 

I ;  and  more 

Have  I  to  tell  you.     Yet  I  charge  you  not 
With  falsehood. 

TEMPLAR. 
No? 

NATHAN. 

That  name  may  be  your  own 
With  equal  right. 

TEMPLAR. 

Ay,  truly  !     (It  is  God 
Who  bids  him  speak. ) 

NATHAN. 

Your  mother  was  a  Stauffen. 
Her  brother,  to  whose  charge  in  Germany 
You  were  committed  when  the  ungenial  air 
Had  forced  your  parents  to  the  East  again, 


NATHAN   THE    WISE.  215 

Was  Curd  von  Stauffen,  who  adopted  you 

Perhaps  in  place  of  children  of  his  own. 

How  long  since  you  came  hither  ?     Lives  he  still  ? 

TEMPLAR. 

What  shall  I  answer  ? — All  is  as  you  say  ; 
But  he  himself  is  dead.     I  came  not  hither 
Until  the  last  detachment  of  our  Order — 
But — but — how  bears  all  this  on  Recha's  brother? 

NATHAN. 
Your  father — 

TEMPLAR. 
How  ?     Him  too — you  knew  him  too  ? 

NATHAN. 
He  was  my  friend. 

TEMPLAR. 
Your  friend  !     How  possible  ? 

NATHAN. 

The  name  of  Wolf  von  Filneck  did  he  bear; 
But  was  no  German — 

TEMPLAR. 
Know  you  also  that  ? 

NATHAN. 

Was  wedded  to  a  German,  and  had  followed 
Your  mother  into  Germany  awhile. 


2l6  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

TEMPLAR. 

No  more,  I  pray  ! — But  Recha's  brother,  Nathan — 
Her  brother  ? 

NATHAN. 
Is  yourself. 

TEMPLAR. 

I — I  her  brother  ! 

RECHA. 
Ah,  he  my  brother  ! 

SALADIN. 
They  are  brother  and  sister  ! 

SITTAH. 
They  brother  and  sister  ! 

RECHA  {advancing  to  him). 

Ah,  my  brother  ! 

TEMPLAR  (drawing  back}. 

Brother ! 

RECHA  (checking  herself,  and  turning  to  Nathan}. 
It  cannot — cannot  be  !     There's  no  response 
Within  his  heart. — We  are  impostors  !     God  ! 

SALADIN  (to  the  Templar*}. 

Impostors  !     Do  you  think  it — can  you  think  it  ? 
Yourself  the  impostor  !     All  in  you  is  false  ; 
Face,  voice,  and  bearing — nothing  yours.     Refuse 
To  acknowledge  such  a  sister  ?     Go — begone  ! 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  217 

TEMPLAR  (approaching  him  humbly). 
Mistake  not  you  too,  Sultan,  my  surprise. 
Ne'er  saw  you  Assad  at  a  time  like  this. 
Oh,  be  not  thus  unjust  to  him  and  me  ! 

'   [Hurrying  to  Nathan. 
You  give  me,  .Nathan,  and  you  take  away — 
With  full  hands  both. — But  no  ;  you  give  me  more, 
More  infinitely  than  you  take  away. 

\Embracing  Recha. 
My  sister,  O  my  sister  ! 

NATHAN. 

Henceforth  Blanda 
Von  Filneck. 

TEMPLAR. 

Blanda — Blanda — no  more  Recha — 
Your  Recha  then  no  more  ?     God ! — You  reject 

her — 

You  give  her  back  her  Christian  name — reject  her 
Because  of  me  !     Oh,  wherefore  call  on  her 
To  make  atonement,  Nathan  ? 

NATHAN. 

What  atonement  ? — 

My  children,  O  my  children  !     For  will  he, 
The  brother  of  my  daughter,  not  become 
Another  child  to  me  ? 

[  While  Nathan  gives  himself  up  to  their  caresses, 
Saladin,  surprised  and  uneasy,  turns  to  Sittah. 
'9 


2l8  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

SALADIN. 

What  say  you,  Sittah  ? 

SITTAH. 
I'm  deeply  moved. 

SALADIN. 

And  I — I  feel  my  heart 
Recoil  before  a  feeling  deeper  still. 
Prepare  yourself  as  best  you  may  ! 

SITTAH. 

For  what  ? 

SALADIN  (to  Nathan). 
A  word  with  you — a  word  ! 

\As  Nalhan  joins  the  Sultan,  Sittah  approaches 
the  brother  and  sister  to  express  her  sympathy ; 
Nathan  and  Saladin  speak  in  whispers. 

Hark  to  me,  Nathan ; — 
Did  you  not  say — 

NATHAN. 
What? 

SALADIN. 

That  from  Germany 

Their  father  came  not — was  no  German  born  ? 
What  was  he  then — whence  came  he  ? 

NATHAN. 

That  he  ne'er 


NATHAN  THE   WISE.  21<) 

Confided  to  me.     Naught  of  it  I  learned 
From  his  own  lips. 

SALADIN. 

And  was  he  then  no  Frank — 
No  native  of  the  West  ? 

NATHAN. 

That  he  confessed. 
He  spoke  most  readily  in  Persian. 

SALADIN. 

Persian  ! 
What  need  I  more  ?     It  is — it  was  himself ! 

NATHAN. 
Who? 

SALADIN. 
'Twas  my  brother,  surely — 'twas  my  Assad  ! 

NATHAN. 

Since  you  yourself  have  guessed  it,  read  in  this 
Its  confirmation.  \_Handing  him  the  breviary. 

SALADIN  (opening  it  eagerly). 
Ah,  his  hand — that  too 
I  recognize  again  ! 

NATHAN. 

They  know  of  naught. 
It  rests  with  you  alone  to  say  how  much 
They  e'er  shall  know. 


22O  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

SALADIN  (turning  over  the  leaves). 

And  shall  I  not  acknowledge 

My  brother's  children — my  own  blood  —  my  chil 
dren — 
Not  own  them  ?     Shall  I  give  them  up  to  you  ? 

(Aloud.} 

'Tis  they — 'tis  they,  dear  Sittah — it  is  they  ! 
My  brother's  and  your  brother's  children — both  ! 

\He  hastens  to  embrace  them. 

SITTAH  (following]. 
What  do  I  hear  ? — Ah,  should  it  not  be  so  ? 

SALADIN  (to  the  Templar). 
You  must — must  love  me  now,  hot-headed  boy  ! 

(ToRecha.) 

Now  am  I  really  what  I  asked  to  be — 
Like  it  or  not ! 

SITTAH. 
I  too — I  too  ! 

SALADIN  (again  to  the  Templar]. 

My  son — 
My  Assad — Assad's  son  ! 

TEMPLAR. 

I  of  your  blood  ! 
Then  were  those  dreams  that  clustered  round  my 

childhood 
Not  merely  empty  dreams.    {Falls  al  the  Sultan's  feel. 


If  ATE  AN   THE   WISE.  221 

SALADIN  (raising  him). 

Behold  the  knave  ! 

He  something  knew  of  this,  and  yet  could  wish 
To  make  me  be  his  murderer.     Ah,  the  knave  ! 

{They  embrace. 


(The  curtain  falls.') 
19* 


ESSAY    ON 

NATHAN  THE  WISE, 


BY     KUNO     FISCHER. 


[Condensed.'} 

NATHAN  THE  WISE  is  universally  acknowledged  to 
be  among  the  most  important  poems  in  German 
literature,  yet  hardly  any  other  great  poem  has 
as  many  enemies.  Some  critics  think  lightly 
of  it  as  a  work  of  art — a  drama  ;  others,  by  far  the 
greater  number,  oppose  it  on  account  of  the  re 
ligious  tone  which  they  think  underlies  it.  Both 
opinions  have  their  leaders,  and  the  leaders  their 
chorus,  which  echoes  the  sentence  and  gives  it  cir 
culation.  Thus  it  has  come  to  pass  that  this  poem 
is  besieged  by  an  army  of  prejudices,  which  most 
persons  accept  before  they  are  in  condition  to  ex 
amine  the  subject  for  themselves.  The  wisest  course, 
under  such  circumstances,  is  to  let  the  judgment  of 
others  affect  us  as  little  as  possible,  and  to  give  our 
selves  up  unreservedly  to  the  influence  of  the  work 
itself.  Let  us  then  proceed  to  consider,  not  so  much 
the  judgments'  passed  upon  Nathan,  as  the  poem  it 
self. 


224  ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 


GENESIS  OF  THE  POEM. 

About  the  year  1770,  there  simultaneously  ap 
peared  in  Germany  an  unusual  number  of  great 
works.  Besides  Lessing's  Emilia  Galolli,  there  ap 
peared  Goethe's  first  productions,  Werther  and  Gotz. 
Lessing  was  himself  in  the  prime  of  his  manhood, 
at  the  height  of  his  art,  from  which  he  never  de 
clined,  but  in  the  fulness  of  time  was  to  be  snatched 
away.  After  the  Emilia  Galotli  he  appears  to  have 
abandoned  the  field  of  poetry.  His  office  in  Wol- 
fenbiittel,  the  journey  to  Italy,  the  publication  of  the 
Wolfenbullel  Fragments,  and  the  controversies  con 
nected  with  it,  kept  his  interests  and  powers  busy  in 
other  directions.  Whoever  is  called  to  be  a  reformer 
must  accept  the  duties  of  a  soldier.  These  duties 
Lessing  fulfilled  with  such  great  ability  and  success 
that  Goethe  and  Schiller  could  speak  of  him  in  one 
of  their  Xenien  as  the  Achilles  of  German  literature. 

Lessing's  poetical  works  stand  in  very  close  con 
nection  with  his  critical.  The  Lileralurbriefe  are 
followed  by  Minna  von  Barnhelm,  the  Dramaturgic 
by  Emilia  Galotti,  and  the  Antigolze  by  Nathan  the 
Wise.  The  connection  in  all  three  cases  is  evident. 
But  in  the  last  we  should  greatly  err  in  attributing 
the  origin  of  the  Nathan  entirely  to  the  Anligotze, 
as  if  it  were  only  a  continuation  of  that  controversy. 
The  idea  of  our  poem  dates  further  back.  Between 
the  years  1774  and  1778  Lessing  had  published 
some  fragments  of  a  work  left  by  the  Hamburg  Pro 
fessor,  Hermann  Samuel  Reimarus,  as  if  they  had 
been  found  among  the  manuscript  treasures  of  the 
Wolfenbiittel  library.  He  purposely,  and  by  promise, 


ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE   WISE.  22$ 

concealed  the  name  of  the  author.  The  published 
extracts  were  therefore  called  the  Wolfenbiittel  Frag 
ments,  and  the  unknown  author,  the  Wolfenbtlttel 
Fragmentist.  The  work  of  Reimarus  was,  as  it 
professed  to  be,  a  defence  of  the  religion  of  reason 
by  a  refutation  of  that  of  revelation.  It  was  an  at 
tack  upon  the  biblical  religion  of  both  Testaments, 
founded  on  a  criticism  of  the  Canon.  The  Frag 
ments,  especially  the  last,  upon  the  history  and  per 
son  of  Jesus,  kindled  the  controversy  which  espe 
cially  Melchior  Gotze,  a  Lutheran  preacher  in 
Hamburg,  began  and  carried  on  with  most  violent 
zeal.  He  aimed  less  at  refuting  the  fragments 
(which  Lessing  would  have  liked,  as  he  was  by  no 
means  in  sympathy  with  their  spirit),  than  at  con 
victing  of  heresy,  and  dooming  to  damnation  both 
author  and  editor.  In  the  eyes  of  the  Ham 
burg  pastor  the  Fragments  were  destructive  of  re 
ligion,  and  therefore  dangerous  to  the  State,  because 
subversive  of  belief  in  the  Bible.  He  accused  the 
editor  of  having  made  himself  a  participator  in  the 
crime,  asserting  that  his  answers  to  the  unknown 
author  were  only  for  appearance'  sake,  and  made 
the  case  worse  rather  than  better. 

Lessing's  reply,  at  once  a  defence  and  a  refutation, 
are  his  famous  letters  against  Gotze,  the  Anligolze. 
They  are  specimens  of  controversial  writing,  unique 
in  the  domain  of  theological  literature,  from  the 
bearing  and  importance  of  the  question,  the  extent 
of  ground  covered,  and  the  personal  ability — unsur 
passed  by  any  man  of  his  time — which  Lessing 
brought  to  bear.  His  object  was  not  only  to  defend 
the  Protestants'  right  to  freedom  of  inquiry  against 
the  Lutheran  zeal  for  belief  in  the  letter,  but  also  to 
maintain  the  independence  of  every  religion,  espe- 


226  ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

cially  the  Christian,  of  all  adherence  to  the  letter. 
His  argument  was,  that  as  religion  is  older  than 
Scripture,  Christianity  older  than  the  Bible,  it  must 
have  existed  before  the  Canon,  and  cannot  therefore 
be  made  to  depend  on  the  letter  of  the  Canon.  The 
object  was  to  search  for  the  archetype  of  religion  in 
the  right  place,  in  order  to  see  its  written  image  in 
the  right  light.  Hence  arose  a  multitude  of  ques 
tions  about  the  origin  of  the  Canon,  the  spirit  of 
primitive  Christianity,  and  the  essence  of  religion. 
The  controversy  between  Lessing  and  Gotze  was  cut 
short.  As  early  as  1778,  the  public  authorities  in 
terfered.  The  Consistory  of  Brunswick  wished  the 
thing  suppressed,  and  the  ministry  deprived  Lessing 
of  the  privilege  of  printing  his  book,  confiscated 
the  Fragments,  and  forbade  the  continuance  of  the 
controversy.  * 

At  this  time  of  public  ill-treatment,  to  which  were 
added  heavy  domestic  sorrows,  a  fresh  impulse  was 
given  to  the  idea  of  Nathan,  which  had  been  begun 
some  years  before.  The  night  of  the  tenth  of  Au 
gust,  1778,  he  resolved  to  finish  the  work.  Early  in 
November  the  full  prose  sketch  was  finished,  and  in 
the  same  month  the  metrical  framework  was  begun. 
This  enlarged  the  piece  far  beyond  the  limits  of  the 
sketch,  and  gave  shape  and  life  to  the  different  char 
acters.  In  March,  1779,  the  poem  was  completed 
in  its  present  form.  Thus  is  shown  the  connection 
between  the  Nathan  and  the  Antigotze  in  point  of 


*  Relmarus'  complete  work,  and  his  theological  position,  have 
been  treated  in  an  exhaustive  manner  by  D.  Fr.  Strauss,  under  the 
title  of  Hermann  Samuel  Reimarus  and  his  Defence  of  the  Rational 
Worshippers  of  God  (1862) ;  and  the  relations  of  Lessing  to  Reimarus, 
and  of  the  Antigotze  to  Nathan  the  Wise,  are  similarly  treated  of  in 
a  discourse  by  the  same  author,  entitled  Lessing's  Nathan  the  Wise 
(1864). 


ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE    WISE.  22<J 

time  and  matter.  In  the  controversy  with  Gotze 
the  question  had  come  up,  "What  is  the  essence  of 
Religion?"  "What  is  the  nature  of  the  Religion 
which  precedes  belief  in  the  letter?"  In  Nathan, 
Lessing  meant  to  answer  these  questions  by  repre 
senting  to  us  the  true  and  original  conditions  of  re 
ligion  in  their  most  living  and  unmistakable  forms, 
embodied  in  characters  to  which  he  could  point  and 
say,  ' '  That  is  what  I  mean. "  The  check  to  his 
controversy  with  Gotze  had  changed  the  librarian 
back  into  the  dramatist.  "I  must  see  if  they  will 
let  me  preach  undisturbed  in  my  own  pulpit,  the 
theatre,"  he  said.  Thus  polemics  helped  to  give  to 
the  world  this  "son  of  his  advancing  old  age,"  as 
Lessing  himself  called  the  Nathan  ;  but  they  did 
not  create  it.  And  all  of  Lessing's  friends  who  ex 
pected  from  this  connection  of  the  poem  with  the 
controversy,  a  polemical  or  satirical  drama,  were 
happily  disappointed. 

At  a  time  when  he  wrote  poetry  with  difficulty, 
Lessing  could  hardly  have  finished  his  Nathan  in  a 
few  months,  if  he  had  not  conceived  it  long  before. 
Emilia  Galotti  was  begun  -fifteen  years  before  it  was 
completed.  When  Lessing  told  his  brother  of  his 
determination  to  write  the  Nathan,  he  said  it  was  a 
drama  which  he  had  sketched  out  many  years  be 
fore.  Perhaps  the  design  of  it  goes  back  to  the 
first  period  of  his  literary  activity.  At  least  we  find 
a  kindred  theme  among  the  subjects  occupying 
him  then.  One  of  those  Rdiungen  which  Lessing 
wrote  at  that  time,  treats  of  an  Italian  philosopher 
of  the  sixteenth  century,  Hieronymus  Cardanus, 
famed  as  a  mathematician,  who,  in  his  de  Subtililale, 
had  compared  the  four  religions  of  the  world — the 
Heathen,  Jewish,  Christian,  and  Moslem.  His 


228  ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

work  took  the  form  of  a  colloquy,  in  which  each  of 
the  speakers  represented  one  of  the  four  religions, 
and  defended  it  against  the  others.  It  was  objected 
that  the  author  had  treated  Christianity  slightingly, 
and  gave  it  the  lowest  place.  Lessing,  in  his  essay, 
defended  him  from  this  charge.  He  claimed  that 
the  opposite  fault  might  rather  be  found  with  him — 
that  he  did  not  furnish  the  Jewish  and  Mahometan 
religions  with  as  strong  arguments  as  he  should. 
He  might  have  made  out  a  much  better  case  for 
them.  Had  Lessing  been  pleading  their  cause,  he 
would  have  made  the  Jew  and  the  Mahometan  speak 
very  differently ;  and  he  proceeds  to  sketch  out  a 
little  plan  of  defence  for  them.  This  idea  reminds 
us  somewhat  of  our  poem.  The  Christian,  Jewish, 
and  Mahometan  religions  enter  the  colloquial  lists 
against  one  another.  Each  one  is  to  plead  its  own 
cause,  and  in  such  a  way  that  the  anti-Christian 
religions  may  have  justice  done  them.  Why  might 
not  the  thought  even  then  have  occurred  to  him  of 
treating  this  subject  dramatically  ? 

Yet  Lessing  needed  for  this  a  more  personal  and 
living  subject  than  he  cduld  draw  from  Cardanus's 
colloquy.  He  found  it  in  Boccacio's  Decame 
ron.  The  story  is  briefly  this.  Saladin's  treasury  is 
empty.  He  needs  large  sums  of  money,  and  knows 
not  where  to  obtain  them.  In  this  emergency  he 
remembers  that  there  lives  in  Alexandria  a  Jew, 
Melchisedek — -rich  and  usurious.  He  sends  for 
him,  and  tries  by  a  captious  question  to  bring  him 
into  his  power.  The  Jew  must  tell  the  Sultan  which 
of  the  three  laws  he  considers  the  true  one,  the 
Jewish,  Christian,  or  Saracen.  However  he  may 
answer,  there  seems  no  escape.  If  he  says  the 
Jewish,  he  insults  the  Sultan's  faith  ;  if  he  names 


ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE   WISE.  22g 

any  other,  he  denies  his  own.  The  Jew's  decision 
is  soon  made.  He  answers  with  the  story  of  the 
three  rings,  in  nearly  the  same  way  that  it  is  told  in 
Nathan  the  Wise. 

Yet  there  is  one  important  difference  between 
Lessing  and  Boccacio.  With  the  latter,  the  ring  is 
only  a  jewel,  entitling  the  possessor  to  nothing  but 
the  inheritance  and  the  position  of  head  of  the  fam 
ily.  With  Lessing,  on  the  contrary,  it  bears  a  higher 
significance.  "It  had  the  secret  power  of  giving 
favor,  in  sight  of  God  and  man,  to  him  who  wore  it 
with  a  believing  heart." 

In  Nathan,  the  ring  has  the  power  of  winning 
hearts,  therefore  of  ennobling  hearts,  for  the  latter 
is  made  the  condition  of  the  former.  Only  he  who 
sows  love,  reaps  love.  He  who  receives  the  most 
love,  because  he  has  given  the  most,  is  undoubtedly 
in  possession  of  the  true  ring.  But  all  three  are  dis 
puting.  Each  considers  himself  the  favored  one, 
and  the  others  impostors.  Each  one  hates  the 
others.  So  long  as  this  intolerant,  selfish  strife 
continues,  the  treasure  of  love  is  not  among  them  ; 
so  long  the  true  ring  remains  undiscovered  ;  so  long 
all  three  that  are  produced  are  counterfeit.  And 
how  if  the  true  ring  should  declare  itself?  if  its 
power  should  begin  to  work  ?  Then  one  is  the 
most  beloved,  and  must  therefore  have  earned  love  ; 
he  must  have  conquered  the  hearts  of  the  others. 
And  if  one  is  the  best  beloved,  there  must  be  love, 
and  therefore  purity  of  heart,  in  the  others.  Each 
one  will,  in  proportion  to  his  power  of  self-renun 
ciation,  love  his  neighbor,  understand  his  views, 
and  practise  forbearance.  There  is  a  toleration 
which  the  world  commends,  and  which  most  men 
practise,  priding  themselves  upon  it  as  a  virtue, 
20 


230  ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

though  it  is  the  easiest  thing  in  the  world.  It  re 
quires  us  only  to  be  indifferent  to  the  beliefs  of 
others.  When  we  have  once  thrown  religion  upon 
that  heap  of  things  we  characterize  as  ' '  trash, "  it  is 
very  easy  not  to  concern  ourselves  about  it  in  other 
people,  especially  as  the  reasoning  faculty  is  thereby 
saved  a  great  labor.  I  know  not  whether  this  so- 
called  toleration  is  better  than  its  opposite.  More 
convenient  it  certainly  is,  and  just  as  certainly  it  is 
not  genuine  toleration ;  for  real  toleration  bears 
with  the  beliefs  and  habits  of  others,  not  from  in 
difference,  but  from  comprehension — from  knowl 
edge  of  human  nature — from  that  interest  which 
Leibnitz  well  calls  "the  love  which  is  identical  with 
wisdom." 

THE   PLOT. 

This  idea  determines  the  purpose  and  subject  of 
the  poem.  What  appears  in  the  fable  of  the  rings 
as  the  distant  goal  of  the  ages — the  perfect  recon 
ciliation  of  the  human  race,  after  emerging,  puri 
fied,  from  their  sectional  religions — the  poem  aims 
to  anticipate  and  present  to  us,  on  a  reduced  scale, 
in  a  family  circle  in  which  worthy  representatives  of 
the  three  hostile  religions  are  united  after  a  long 
separation.  A  story  had  therefore  to  be  invented 
which  should  bring  about  such  a  union  of  Jew, 
Christian,  and  Moslem.  This  story  is,  as  Lessing 
expresses  it,  "the  interesting  episode  which  he  has 
woven  about  the  tale  of  the  three  rings. " 

Moral  power  is  measured  by  the  obstacles  met 
and  overcome.  In  times  when  the  world  is  glutted 
with  sectional  hatred,  and  wars  are  waged  in  the 
name  of  religion,  true  toleration — pure  love  of  hu- 


ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE   WISE.  231 

manity,  founded  on  unselfishness — will  be  best,  be 
cause  most  severely,  tested  ;  and  in  just  such  times 
will  this  be  manifested  in  certain  rare  characters. 
The  Crusades,  therefore,  form  an  appropriate  theatre 
for  our  story.  After  the  religious  passions  have  un 
dergone  an  unusual  strain,  there  is  an  inevitable  re 
action.  The  most  violent  intolerance  gives  place  to 
that  easy  tolerance  which  begins  to  neutralize  all' 
religious  differences.  True  toleration  is  something 
different  from  this.  The  fourth  Crusade  gives  marked 
evidence  that  the  interest  in  religion  was  diminish 
ing  with  the  passions  it  engendered,  and  that  a  dif 
ference  of  belief  had  in  some  cases  no  longer  a 
dividing  power.  A  Templar  goes  over  to  Saladin  ; 
a  Christian  king  knights  a  Mussulman — the  Sultan's 
cousin  ;  and  even  an  alliance  by  marriage  is  planned 
between  Saladin  and  Cceur  de  Lion.  It  is  the  period 
when  the  Jewish  and  Moslem  culture  stands  so  high, 
that  their  philosophers  can  instruct  the  Christian 
theologians  in  regard  to  Aristotle,  and  influence 
Christian  culture  in  many  important  ways. 

Especially  did  the  Crusades  represent  and  produce 
a  great  crisis  in  the  religious  condition  of  the  Chris 
tian  world.  They  worked  upon  the  religious  pas 
sions — inflaming,  blunting,  purifying  them.  Their 
effect  stands  in  marked  contrast  to  their  cause.  The 
Crusades  sprang  from  a  passionate  yearning  for  a 
faith ;  after  that  yearning  was  satisfied,  they  necessarily 
ended  in  one  of  those  great  and  fruitful  disenchant- 
ments  which  enrich  the  world  so  much,  and  are 
never  bought  too  dearly.  The  Crusaders  sought, 
and  resolved  to  win,  the  sepulchre  of  Christ ;  and 
what  they  found,  won,  and  lost  again,  was — a  sepul 
chre.  They  made  for  themselves  the  discovery  that 
the  grave  was  empty, — and,  through  their  experience, 


232  ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

the  saying  by  the  well  of  Samaria  received  a  new 
fulfilment  :  "  God  is  a  spirit,  and  they  who  worship 
him,  must  worship  him  in  spirit  and  in  truth."  We 
may  say  that  this  great  tragedy  purified  the  faith 
through  the  passions,  and  was,  to  use  an  expression 
of  Aristotle,  "A  true  katharsis." 

The  source  from  which  he  took  his  theme  led 
Lessing  back  to  the  time  and  person  of  Saladin,  who 
was  ruler  of  Jerusalem  toward  the  end  of  the 
twelfth  century,  from  1187  101193.  The  chrono 
logical  contradictions,  which  Lessing  did  not  attempt 
to  avoid,  prevent  our  assigning  an  exact  year  to  the 
supposed  events. 

On  the  side  of  art,  the  composition  has  undeniable 
faults.  What  a  difference,  in  this  respect,  between 
it  and  the  Emilia  Galotti !  In  Emilia  Galotti  the 
thread  of  the  drama  is  tightly  drawn,  the  flow  of 
incidents  is  smooth  and  natural,  and  the  motive  of 
every  action  consistently  dramatic.  In  Nathan  the 
separate  threads  are  loosely  and  artificially  joined,  and 
the  incidents  are  not  always  consistent  with  the  char 
acters,  but  often  are  mere  episodes  of  one  another. 
There  is  hardly  anything  less  characteristic  for  the 
dramatic  poet  than  the  resemblance  of  two  faces; 
it  can  be  made  obvious  by  no  manner  of  action 
or  any  poetical  means.  The  author  of  Laocoon 
was  perfectly  aware  of  this.  And  yet  he  uses  this 
motive  twice  in  Nathan,  not  only  incidentally,  but 
as  of  effective  and  decisive  influence.  It  is  lucky 
that  the  Templar  resembles  his  father  so  much — 
lucky  that  the  Sultan  recognizes  this  resemblance  at 
the  last  moment — lucky  that  Nathan  himself  discov 
ers  the  same  resemblance  in  time.  The  whole  story 
at  last  turns  upon  the  features  of  the  Templar.  So 
superficial,  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  term,  dramatic 


ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE   WISE.  233 

motives  must  not  be.  This  connection  between  the 
Templar's  countenance,  the  Sultan's  pardon,  and 
Recha's  deliverance  has,  no  doubt,  a  tendency  to  set 
forth  a  succession  of  natural  events  in  the  light  of  a 
miraculous  ordinance,  and  to  show  therein  the  ways 
of  a  Divine  Providence ;  but,  unhappily,  the  art  of 
the  dramatic  poet  cannot  claim  for  the  chain  of 
events  which  it  forms,  the  same  faith  as  for  the  provi 
dence  of  God. 

Were  Lessing's  Nathan  nothing  but  a  family  drama, 
and  this  family  history  the  main  point  of  the  poem, 
the  composition  would  be  a  failure  in  more  than  one 
respect.  But  the  story  is  only  the  means  which  Les- 
sing  uses  to  bring  out  his  idea,  and  he  treats  it  as 
that  idea  requires,  at  the  risk  of  mixing  contradic 
tory  elements.  In  a  drama  proper,  it  is  true,  the 
plot,  or,  as  Aristotle  calls  it,  the  ' '  mythus, "  should 
have  the  first  consideration.  Upon  this  point  Les- 
sing  agrees  perfectly  with  Aristotle.  He  was  aware 
of  this  weakness  in  Nathan,  and  therefore  called  it, 
not  a  drama,  not  a  play,  but  ' '  a  dramatic  poem." 

THE  CHARACTERS. 

Some  say  that  in  the  characters  of  his  poem  Les- 
sing  intended  to  represent  the  three  religions  :  that 
in  the  Patriarch,  Daja,  the  Templar,  and  the  Lay- 
brother  he  personified  Christianity ;  in  Nathan, 
Judaism  ;  in  Saladin,  Sittah,  and  Al-Hafi,  Islam- 
ism.  There  are  even  external  objections  to  this 
view.  Where  does  it  put  Recha  ?  Al-Hafi  too,  with 
his  predilection  for  the  Parsees,  and  his  longing  for 
his  teachers  by  the  Ganges,  is  hardly  a  pure  type  of 
Islamism.  But  the  internal  objections  are  still 
stronger,  as  I  shall  presently  prove  in  detail.  It  is 
20* 


234  ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

absurd  to  suppose  that  Lessing  meant  to  present  us 
with  types  of  the  three  religions.  And  this  of  itself 
disposes  of  the  accusation  frequently  made,  similar 
to  that  from  which  he  himself  had  endeavored  to 
defend  Cardanus,  of  his  evidently  having  slighted 
and  degraded  Christianity,  by  choosing  the  worst 
character  in  the  piece  for  its  type,  while  Judaism 
has  the  best.  Only  a  superficial  reading  of  the 
poem  would  so  judge  it.  Equally  erroneous  is  the 
idea  that  Lessing  wished  to  defend  and  justify  the 
enlightened,  perhaps  the  deistical  religious  views 
against  the  orthodox.  Nathan,  in  that  case,  would 
be  the  same  in  a  dramatic  form  which  Reimarus's 
work  was  in  a  critical,  a  defence  of  the  rational 
worshippers  of  God.  The  poem  deals  by  no  means 
with  definite  creeds  or  theological  doctrines.  Recha 
says,  "  But  all  the  more  consoling  was  the  lesson, 
that  our  faith  in  God  depends  not  on  our  views  of 
Him." 

The  one  spring  of  all  the  characters  lies  deeper. 
It  is  that  which  Lessing  wished  to  set  before  our  minds 
in  the  stoiy  of  the  three  rings — the  difference  between 
true  and  false  religion.  The  true  basis  of  religion 
is  self-renunciation,  which  enlightens  the  under 
standing  in  proportion  as  it  purifies  the  heart,  and 
bears  its  richest  fruit  in  that  love  whose  source  is  a 
right  knowledge  of  human  nature. 

But  in  what  different  proportions  do  we  find  the 
true  mixed  with  the  untrue,  the  genuine  with  the 
counterfeit,  renunciation  of  self  with  the  delusions 
of  the  imagination  and  the  passions  !  From  one 
side  or  another  a  shadow  falls  upon  the  light  of  the 
soul  and  checks  its  aspirations.  Here  we  might 
imagine  a  group  of  widely  differing  characters,  in 
which  the  true  idea  is  working  its  way  out  of  the 


ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  TEE  WISE.  235 

untrue,  until  it  reaches  the  measure  of  its  perfect  de 
velopment. 

THE  PATRIARCH. 

In  such  a  group  of  characters,  the  direct  opposite 
to  the  truly  religious  should  not  be  wanting.  There 
is  a  form  of  selfishness  which  puts  on  the  outward 
show  of  religion,  with  full  consciousness  of  the 
mask.  This  is  religious  hypocrisy,  whose  proto 
type  is  Tartuffe.  But  there  is  a  step  below  even 
Tartuffe ; — when  the  egotist  believes  himself  in  all 
sincerity  to  be  a  man  of  God,  and  his  designs  to  be 
well  pleasing  to  God  ;  when  religion  is  not  the 
mask,  but  the  coat  of  mail  in  which  egotism 
dwells  as  in  a  fortress — safe,  comfortable,  bullet 
proof,  even  beyond  the  reach  of  exposure,  which, 
by  the  conscious  hypocrite,  is  constantly  dreaded 
and  guarded  against. 

The  type  of  this  form  is  the  Patriarch.  Heartless 
to  inhumanity,  and  so  hardened  against  every  feel 
ing  of  generosity  as  to  be  utterly  incapable  of  under 
standing  them,  he  lives  under  the  generous  pro 
tection  of  Saladin ;  knows  that  Saladin  has  bestowed 
life  and  liberty  upon  the  Templar,  and  yet  suggests 
to  the  Templar  that  he  should  use  this  very  liberty 
to  become  a  spy  upon  Saladin,  and  his  murderer. 
He  hears  of  an  orphan  Christian  child  brought  up 
by  a  Jew  as  if  it  were  his  own,  but  sees  nothing  in 
this  tender  circumstance  but  the  robbery  of  a  soul, 
and  thinks  that  it  had  been  better  for  this  Jew  to  let 
the  child  perish. 

There  is  no  faint  emotion  of  humanity  in  his  soul, 
which  he  is  trying  to  stifle  in  obedience  to  his 
Church.  Were  he  only  a  blind  instrument,  his  sub- 


236  ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

mission  might  be  a  sign  of  that  self-renunciation 
which  has  been  the  strength  of  the  Church.  But 
there  is  nothing  of  this  in  him — nothing  either  of 
its  humility  or  its  pride.  His  own  interests  are  up 
permost  with  him. 

He  hates  the  Sultan,  whose  rule  is  naturally  less 
agreeable  to  him  than  that  of  an  orthodox  king,  and 
seeks  to  rid  himself  of  it  by  treason  and  assassina 
tion.  But  this  does  not  deter  him  from  appealing 
to  him  against  the  Jew  who  has  brought  up  a  Chris 
tian  child  in  his  own  faith,  or  perhaps  in  none. 
He  is  prompt  to  convince  the  Sultan  of  the  necessity 
of  religion  in  the  State,  and  he  thus  makes  religion 
itself  serve  him  as  a  means  to  power.  Yet  he 
remains  the  same  ready  servant  of  any  power,  no 
matter  how  hateful,  that  may  be  dangerous  to  him. 
No  sooner  does  he  hear  that  the  Templar  is  sum 
moned  before  Saladin  than  he  changes  his  tone  : 

"  Ah  !— The  Knight,  I  know, 
Found  favor  with  the  Sultan.    I  but  pray 
To  be  remembered  favorably  to  him. 

We  see  that  he  would  crawl  if  the  Sultan  stood 
before  him. 

This  Patriarch  has  not  the  least  vocation  for 
martyrdom.  He  will  take  good  care  never  to  sacri 
fice  himself.  Even  his  intolerance  and  fanaticism 
are  kept  within  the  bounds  of  self-interest.  His 
religion  has  agreed  with  him  well.  Lessing's  few 
words  describe  him — "  A  red,  fat,  jolly  prelate." 

We  look  for  characters  of  the  type  of  the  Patri 
arch  not  only  among  prelates,  but  wherever  pub 
lic  ends,  whether  political  or  religious,  whether 
those  of  a  whole  community  or  of  a  sect,  are  made 
subservient  to  individual  interest.  The  type  re 
mains  the  same  under  the  most  various  forms. 


ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE   WISE.  237 

When  these  persons  are  in  authority,  we  may  be 
sure  the  Jew  will  go  to  the  stake.  As  long  as  the 
power  is  with  Saladin,  whom  they  secretly  hate,  we 
may  be  sure  of  finding  them  in  waiting  with  their 
assurances  of  submission — "I  but  pray  to  be  re 
membered  favorably  to  him." 


DAJA. 

In  the  Patriarch,  pride  of  faith  and  egotism  of 
faith  are  simply  pride  and  egotism,  destitute  of 
every  sort  of  piety  and  disinterestedness.  But  we 
should  be  unjust  to  human  nature  did  we  conclude 
that  bigotry  is  incapable  of  any  nobler  shape  and 
impulse.  Men  do  not  generally  make  their  faith  ; 
they  receive  it — receive  it  under  the  best  and  noblest 
influences  that  they  can.  The  conviction  of  pos 
sessing  the  true  faith  is  therefore  a  necessary  result 
of  religious  training.  From  this  readily  arises  a 
religious  conceit,  which  in  narrow  natures  amounts 
to  bigotry  and  arrogance.  Religion  is  looked  upon 
as  a  piece  of  property  to  make  a  show  of,  like  any 
worldly  possession.  This  is  doubtless  a  very  low 
form  of  religious  culture,  but  not  an  utterly  false 
one.  It  has  only  stood  still  in  the  first  infantile  be 
ginnings  of  religious  development,  where  faith  is 
without  understanding.  It  is  the  ordinary,  imma 
ture  form  of  piety — true  and  sincere  in  its  way, 
acting  up  to  what  understanding  it  has,  and  know 
ing  no  better.  In  such  cases  the  heart  is  not 
lacking  in  good  intentions  as  much  as  in  that 
education  without  which  the  best  intentions  are 
perverted  and  misled. 

A  type  of  this  very  common  form  of  religion  is 


238  ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE  WISE. 

Daja.  She  is  actuated  by  two  impulses — her  love 
for  Recha,  to  whom  she  clings  with  all  fidelity  and 
devotion,  and  the  firm  conviction,  mechanically 
acquired,  that  only  in  her  Church  can  men  be  saved. 
So  her  -love  to  Recha  is  turned  into  fear  for  her  salva 
tion.  In  such  a  disposition  unselfishness  is  cramped 
by  ignorance  and  vanity.  Out  of  love  to  Recha  she 
wants  to  save  her,  and  does  not  see  that  the  separa 
tion  from  Nathan  must  break  her  heart.  It  is  some 
what  suspicious  in  so  devout  a  Christian,  that  she 
wants  to  save  Recha  from  the  Jew  by  marrying  her 
to  the  Templar.  Daja's  faith  becomes  so  tolerant  as 
to  disregard  the  vows  of  a  Christian  Order,  if  she  can 
only  make  a  match  !  Her  self-love  is  as  great  as 
her  affection  for  Recha.  This  attachment  furthers 
her  own  little  interests.  Nathan  knows  Daja  better 
than  she  knows  him.  When  she  speaks  of  her 
conscience,  Nathan  says  : 

"  Let  me  but  tell  you  first 
What  stuffs  in  Babylon  I  bought  for  yon  1" 

Her  dearest  wish  is  to  take  Recha  back  to  Europe — 
to  her  faith,  and  her  home.  But  her  own  interest  is 
not  forgotten.  She  calls  out  to  the  Templar,  after 
having  betrayed  the  secret  of  Recha's  birth  : 

"  But  when  you  take  her  back  to  Europe,  Knight, 
Pray,  leave  me  not  behind." 

So  her  religion,  like  her  love,  is  half  selfishness. 


THE  TEMPLAR. 

Let  us  now  substitute  for  bigotry  a  character 
totally  free  from  it,  regarding  it  as  worthy  of  ridicule 
and  condemnation,  lifting  against  it  the  whole  force 
of  a  disinterested  and  magnanimous  heart,  and  a 


ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE  WISE.  239 

fulness  of  passionate  scorn.  In  this  scorn  lies  a 
danger.  Contempt  of  error  involves  pride  in  being 
free  from  it.  This  pride  betrays  immaturity,  igno 
rance.  Soaring  above  intolerance  and  fanaticism,  in 
its  very  flight  it  loses  itself  in  intolerance  and  fanat 
icism.  Lessing  knew  the  inconsistency  well,  and 
was  without  a  trace  of  it  himself.  As  Herder  has 
excellently  said,  he  was  no  freethinker,  but  a  right- 
thinker.  The  hasty  free-thinker  esteems  himself 
infinitely  better  than  the  slaves  of  bigotry,  and 
despises  them  for  the  very  reason  that  they  esteem 
themselves.  Where  the  spirit  of  free-thinking,  born 
of  a  pure  and  noble  impulse,  takes  the  direction  of 
pride,  it  finds  the  barrier  at  which  the  capacity  for 
self-renunciation  is  checked  and  corrupted. 

A  well-drawn  type  of  such  a  character  is  the 
Templar.  His  Order  has  imposed  upon  him  chains 
which  he  writhes  under  and  at  last  inwardly  shakes 
off.  The  wars  of  religion,  in  which  his  life  has 
been  passed,  have  given  him  an  experience  of  re 
ligious  fanaticism.  The  spirit  which  has  begun  to 
spread  through  his  Order  favors  his  private  indiffer 
ence  to  creeds,  and  he  expresses  himself  with  pas 
sionate  violence  whenever  he  encounters  what  he 
takes  for  religious  self-sufficiency.  Where  could 
this  be  greater  than  among  the  people  which  esteems 
itself  the  chosen  of  the  Lord  ?  Hence  his  fierce 
contempt  of  the  Jews.  The  words  which  he  igno- 
rantly  and  unjustly  aimed  at  Nathan  would  apply 
well  enough  to  himself:  "Not  all  who  scorn  their 
chains  are  free." 

Yet  these  qualities  in  the  Templar  are  so  well 
managed,  and  their  origin  so  clearly  explained,  that 
we  do  not  expect  and  hardly  wish  them  to  be  other 
wise.  The  experience  of  his  life  has  shown  him 


240  ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE   WISE. 

only  the  dark  side  of  the  different  religions,  has 
aroused  in  him  only  a  bitter  hatred  of  bigoted  con 
ceit.  He  is  young,  and,  after  the  manner  of  youth, 
quick  to  reject  a  thing  wholly  which  seems  to  him 
in  one  respect  unjust. 

The  Templar's  is  a  rare  nature.  He  has  one 
trait  in  common  with  his  poet,  which,  simple  as  it  is, 
is  seldom  found.  He  is  perfectly  true  ;  he  will  seem 
nothing  he  is  not.  Even  his  mistakes  are  so  sincere 
and  undisguised  that  they  soon  yield  to  fuller 
knowledge.  If  we  set  aside  the  bonds  of  faith 
imposed  by  his  Order,  which,  after  all,  have  not 
fettered  him  much,  we  shall  find  the  white  mantle, 
with  its  red  cross,  an  appropriate  badge  for  him. 
The  noble  traits  which  constituted  the  power  of  the 
Order  are  in  harmony  with  his  personal  inclina 
tions — heroism,  contempt  of  death,  renunciation 
of  the  world.  In  these  he  is  a  true  Templar. 

His  early  renunciation  of  the  world  makes  him 
abandon  himself  to  solitude,  resent  every  intrusive 
approach,  feel  a  weariness  of  life  creeping  over  him, 
and  a  disposition  to  sadness  in  the  very  fulness  of 
his  youth.  Misanthropy,  as  a  principle,  is  never 
just,  and  proves  itself  false  by  being  always  linked 
with  an  exaggerated  self-consciousness,  and  the  in 
voluntary  satisfaction  it  occasions  is  of  the  nature  of 
egotism.  A  misanthropy  acquired  so  early  in  life 
as  the  Templar's  has  too  little  knowledge  of  men. 
Its  judgments  are  harsh,  and  applied  by  whole 
sale.  He  reasons  thus  :  They  are  all  egotists,  even 
in  their  religion,  where  they  should  be  least  so  ; 
and  the  Jews  are  the  worst,  because  their  religion 
obliges  them  to  be  egotists  ;  they  first  started  this 
finding  fault  with  others,  first  called  themselves  the 
chosen  people,  first  had  the  arrogance  to  set  up 


ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE   WISE.  24! 

their  God  as  the  only  true  God.     And  the  next  step 
is — "Each  Jew  is  like  all  Jews." 

Nathan,  however,  reads  the  Templar's  heart,  and 
recognizes  the  magnanimity  capable  of  self-sacrifice, 
darkened  by  a  pride  amounting  almost  to  self-exal 
tation.  He  gradually  removes  the  barrier  between 
them,  and  the  two  recognize  in  one  another  the 
same  aspirations  of  an  enlightened,  unshackled 
humanity. 


THE  LAY-BROTHER. 

The  unselfishness  of  the  Templar  is  crippled  by 
scorn  of  the  world  and  mankind.  He  inwardly 
revolts  against  the  bigotry  that  he  sees  dominant  in 
the  religions  of  the  world  :  this  leads  to  misan 
thropy,  misanthropy  to  pride,  and  pride  to  that 
glorification  of  self  which  is  inconsistent  with  self- 
renunciation.  Take  from  self-renunciation  this 
limitation  which  oppresses  and  obscures  it,  substi 
tute  for  self-glorification  its  extreme  opposite — self- 
depreciation — and  you  have  a  character  of  the  hum 
blest  sort ;  one  of  those  insignificant  natures  which 
cannot  make  themselves  insignificant  enough — 
which  prefer  to  live  away  from  men,  or,  if  among 
men,  to  be  always  obedient  and  submissive.  Our 
poem  furnishes  us  with  this  necessary  type  in  the 
Lay-brother.  Too  gentle  to  hate  those  who  differed 
from  him,  and  too  peaceable  to  lead  the  wild  life 
of  a  soldier,  he  became  a  hermit.  Now  he  is  a  friar 
at  Jerusalem,  and  must  be  obedient  to  the  Patriarch's 
orders.  He  will  become  a  tool  of  the  basest  curiosity, 
a  spy,  if  he  allows  himself  to  be  used  so.  Obedient 
and  submissive  he  certainly  is,  but  not  so  blind  nor- 


242  ESSAY   O.V  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

so  simple  as  the  Patriarch  supposes.  He  knows 
enough  of  human  nature  to  see  through  the  Pa 
triarch,  and  is  too  pure  to  serve  his  evil  purposes, 
too  cunning  to  be  as  cunning  as  he  would  have  him. 

In  his  religion,  compassion  and  love,  as  well  as 
submission,  are  all-important.  So  far  he  is  a  true 
Christian.  The  conversation  with  Nathan,  when  he 
warns  him  of  the  spying  tricks  of  the  Patriarch, 
admirably  expresses  the  character.  Had  the  Jew 
taken  compassion  on  the  Christian  child,  been  a 
loving  father  to  the  orphan,  only  to  fall  a  victim  to 
the  Inquisitor?  The  simply  human  and  truly  pious 
mind  of  the  Brother  cannot  frame  the  thought. 

The  Patriarch  and  the  Lay-brother — one  of  the 
highest  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  and  one  of  the 
humblest  of  the  laity  !  The  question  to  be  decided 
is  the  fate  of  a  child.  The  prelate  would  have  the 
child  perish  in  misery  rather  than  be  saved  by  a  Jew. 
The  Brother  only  thinks — "Children  need  love." 

The  Lay-brother  and  the  Templar  both  hostile  to 
religious  fanaticism  !  How  much  wiser  the  Brother 
in  his  simple  piety  than  the  Templar  in  his  proud 
independence  !  The  Templar  sees  in  the  Jew  only 
the  self-sufficiency  of  his  creed  ;  the  Brother  sees  in 
the  Christian's  hate  of  the  Jews,  only  hate. 

"  It  oft  has  vexed. 

Provoked  me,  e'en  to  tears,  to  see  how  Christians 
Forget  our  Saviour  was  himself  a  Jew." 

The  Lay-brother  and  Nathan — the  Christian  and 
the  Jew  !  When  Nathan  tells  him  at  what  a  moment 
he  received  the  Christian  child,  how  his  wife  and 
seven  sons  had  just  been  slain  by  the  Christians, 
how  he  had  taken  the  child,  kissed  it,  thanked  God 
for  it — "Of  seven,  Thou  grantest  me  one  again  !" 
— the  Brother  exclaims  : 


ESSAY   ON  NATHAN    THE    WISE.  243 

"  You  are  a  Christian,  Nathan  I    Yes,  by  heaven, 
You  are  a  Christian  !    Never  was  a  better  1" 

A.nd  Nathan  answers  : 

"  What  makes  of  me  a  Christian  in  your  eyes, 
Makes  you  in  mine  a  Jew. — llappy  for  both  I" 

Yet,  genuine  as  the  piety  of  the  Lay-brother  is, 
there  is  something  ignoble  in  it.  He  is  fleeing 
from  the  world — he  fears  its  contact.  He  is  at  ease 
only  when  free  from  the  cares  and  duties  involved 
in  association  with  men.  He  feels  insecure  amidst 
human  activity,  where  the  best  deed  may  have  fatal 
consequences.  The  good  and  the  evil  are  so  closely 
woven  together,  that  the  two  can  hardly  be  distin 
guished.  To  avoid  the  evil,  he  must  beware  even 
of  the  good.  But  is  there  any  good  to  be  found 
without  this  dangerous  neighborhood?  Renuncia 
tion  of  the  world  is  less  than  overcoming  the  world. 


THE  DERVISE. 

It  is  difficult  to  find  the  happy  mean  in  renuncia 
tion  of  the  world  !  In  the  Templar  it  is  joined  to 
pride  and  passion  ;  in  the  Lay-brother,  to  humility, 
which  degenerates  into  pusillanimity.  It  makes  the 
Templar  bitter,  the  friar  powerless. 

There  is  a  renunciation  of  the  world,  which  is 
cramped  by  no  such  limitations,  perfectly  unarti- 
ficial  and  unconstrained,  in  which  the  soul  is  con 
scious  of  its  full  power  and  the  blessedness  of  free 
dom.  This  form  of  it  is  native  to  the  East.  Its 
successful  type  in  our  poem  is  the  dervise,  Al-Hafi. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  world  to  fetter  the  dervise  ; 
no  passion  ensnares  him,  no  good  allures  him,  no 
master  keeps  him  in  dependence.  He  possesses 


244  ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

nothing,  and  wants  nothing.  His  is  the  poverty 
of  a  beggar  and  the  independence  of  a  king.  What 
worked  upon  this  beggar  to  forsake  his  contempla 
tive  life  and  become  the  comptroller  of  Saladin's 
wealth  ?  Was  he  avaricious,  or  did  the  Sultan  dis 
cover  in  the  dervise  an  undeveloped  financier? 
Neither.  Saladin  wanted  only  the  dervise,  the  man 
who  has  the  virtue  of  not  wanting  anything  and  not 
having  anything  ;  he  wanted  the  beggar  who  would 
be  tender  of  the  poor,  and  give  free  play  to  the 
royal  generosity.  And  these  generous  motives  satis 
fied  the  dervise.  But  Al-Hafi  is  too  clear-sighted  to 
be  long  deceived  by  an  ideal.  He  soon  makes  the 
discovery  that  the  management  of  the  public  treasure 
requires  other  qualities  than  the  generosity  of  the 
king  and  the  humanity  of  the  treasurer  ;  that  the 
best  dispositions  of  the  heart  are  poor  agents  where 
the  public  weal  is  concerned  ;  that  this  benevolent 
ideal  is  perverted  into  folly  and  confusion  when  the 
public  treasure  is  dissipated  in  gifts  and  charities. 
The  benevolent  and  generous  king  is  in  danger  of 
becoming  a  plague  upon  mankind,  and  finally  a 
prey  to  the  covetous.  "When  princes  are  the  vul 
tures  amidst  the  carrion,  it  is  bad  enough  ;  but 
when  they  are  the  carrion  amidst  the  vultures,  'tis 
ten  times  worse  !"• 

The  dervise  sees  the  folly  into  which  Saladin  is  un 
consciously  leading  him.  This  knowledge  makes 
him  dissatisfied  with  himself.  "  O  fool  !  The  fool 
too  of  a  fool  !"  He  must  condemn  the  folly  ;  must 
give  the  thing  its  right  name  ;  must  atone  for  his 
self-deception  by  the  frankest  acknowledgment  of  it. 
And  yet  in  Saladin's  lavishness  is  a  magnanimity  to 
which  Al-Hafi  feels  himself  akin.  He  cannot  help 
tracing  out  the  good  side  of  this  foolery,  as  he  calls 


ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE    WISE.  245 

it,  and  he  is  vexed  with  himself  again  for  doing 
so — for  secretly  loving  the  folly  he  must  abandon. 
Our  dervise's  head  and  heart  are  at  open  variance. 
Before  he  took  the  post  of  treasurer  they  were  in 
perfect  sympathy.  He  longs  to  be  once  more  the 
dervise  who  was  nothing  but  a  dervise. 

He  is  not  suited  for  the  court.  The  one  only 
pleasure  in  which  he  takes  passionate  delight — 
playing  chess — is  made  distasteful  to  him.  Saladin 
loses  enormous  sums  to  Sittah.  That  would  be  no 
great  harm,  for  Sittah  economizes  them,  and  the 
Sultan's  lost  games  are  the  one  secret  bit  of  prof 
itable  finance  carried  on  at  court.  But  not  only 
does  Sittah  pretend  to  win  money  ;  she  even  pre 
tends  to  win  the  game  itself.  All  make-believe ! 
Generosity,  and  benevolence,  and  chess  !  Such 
things  are  not  to  be  borne  by  the  dervise,  with  his 
horror  of  all  the  world's  delusion.  Out  of  tune  and 
temper  he  is  already  ;  at  enmity  with  himself,  and 
will  be  an  enemy  of  his  race  if  he  do  not  return  be 
times  to  his  free  element.  In  a  moment  he  is  up 
and  away.  He  takes  leave  of  none  but  Nathan. 
He  would  prefer  to  take  him  as  the  companion  of 
his  philosophic  solitude.  But  even  in  the  dervise's 
renunciation  of  the  world  is  a  want  which  crippled 
it,  and  makes  it  barren  of  all  true  force  and  freedom. 

True  self-abnegation  overcomes  the  world,  is 
not  estranged  from  it.  The  Templar,  the  friar, 
and  the  dervise,  unlike  as  they  are,  resemble  one 
another  in  this — that  they  do  not  stand  the  test  of 
true  renunciation  of  the  world.  The  Templar  likes 
to  feel  melancholy.  "Woman,  do  not  make  these 
palms,  'neath  which  I've  loved  to  walk,  grow  hateful 
to  me, "  he  says  to  Daja.  A  hundred  times  a  day  the 
friar  wishes  himself  on  Tabor.  And  the  dervise 


246  ESSAY   ON  NATHAN-   THE    WISE. 

longingly  exclaims,  "Beside  the  Ganges  only  are 
there  men." 

Here  is  renunciation  of  the  world  consisting  in 
flight  from  it.  In  such  a  case,  human  love  works 
in  just  the  opposite  way  from  the  force  of  attraction 
in  the  material  world  :  attraction  diminishes  as  the 
distance  increases,  while  this  form  of  human  love 
increases  with  the  distance.  It  is  not  free  except  in 
the  wilderness.  Among  men,  where  its  proper  field 
should  be,  it  is  so  out  of  time  that  it  might  easily 
grow  into  its  opposite.  This  is  what  the  experi 
enced  Nathan  fears  for  his  friend  : 

"  Al-Hafi,  make  all  haste 
To  get  into  your  wilderness  again. 
I  fear  lest,  living  among  men,  you'll  cease 
To  be  a  man  yourself." 


SALADIN  AND   SITTAH. 

We  will  now  contemplate  unselfishness  in  high 
places,  above  the  range  of  ordinary  human  activities. 

In  Saladin,  we  have  unselfishness  in  its  greatness, 
cramped  by  no  limitations.  At  the  height  of  power, 
he  is  simple  and  content.  The  whole  force  of  un 
affected,  unconstrained  self-conquest  makes  the  free 
dom  and  the  strength  of  his  soul.  Hence  his  ability 
to  govern  men. 

There  is  nothing  paltry  in  this  great  soul.  His 
mind  is  open  and  receptive  of  all  human  greatness. 
Nobility,  wherever  found,  he  joyfully  welcomes  as 
akin  to  himself — the  dervise's  disinterestedness, 
Nathan's  wisdom,  Richard's  heroism.  There  is  no 
dividing  wall  between  the  king  and  the  beggar,  the 
Mussulman  and  the  Jew,  the  chivalrous  Sultan  and 
the  chivalrous  King. 


ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE   WISE.  247 

A  mind  so  susceptible  to  true  humanity,  wherever 
found,  easily  rises  above  prejudices  and  narrow 
judgments.  He  looks  men  through,  and  therefore 
need  neither  fear  nor  shun  them.  He  lets  every 
one  take  his  own  way.  To  foster  and  develop  good 
in  all  its  forms  is  a  necessity  to  him,  his  vocation. 
There  is  something  of  Haroun  al  Raschid  in  our 
Sultan.  The  generous-minded  Saladin,  with  his 
toleration  of  all  forms,  of  life  and  forms  of  faith, 
would  never  of  himself  have  thought  of  putting  to 
Nathan  the  trying  question:  "Which  is  the  true 
religion  ?"  Such  a  question  is  not  at  all  like  him, 
certainly  not  the  using  it  as  a  snare  to  entrap  the 
Jew.  It  was  well  conceived  by  Lessing  to  make 
this  trick  originate  with  Sittah  instead  of  Saladin. 

The  Sultan,  in  the  Italian  story,  did  not  care  for 
the  truth,  but  only  for  the  captious  question  which 
was  to  ensnare  the  Jew.  He  is  curious  to  see  how 
the  Jew  will  escape.  He  therefore  was  satisfied  by 
a  skilful  evasion.  Not  so  the  Sultan  of  our  poem, 
who  sought  truth  itself,  and  was  eager  for  the  solu 
tion  of  the  great,  human  question.  In  a  single 
word,  Nathan  explains  the  natural  spring  of  faith, 
the  same  in  all  religions  :  "Why  should  I  not  be 
lieve  my  fathers  just  as  firmly  as  you  yours?"  Re 
ligious  faith  is  intimately  connected  with  domestic 
love — the  altar  with  the  hearth.  This  sinks  into 
Saladin's  soul.  He  is,  of  all  men,  most  loving  of 
his  own.  His  faith  is  the  faith  of  his  fathers.  This 
obstinate  and  illiberal  adherence  of  each  to  his  own 
faith  brings  the  religions  into  conflict,  sows  discord 
among  the  sons  with  their  rings,  and  finally  brings 
them  before  the  judge.  Such  is  the  condition  of 
the  world  in  which  Saladin  lives,  himself  a  soldier 
for  the  faith  of  his  fathers.  This  is  the  point  he 


248  ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

v/ants  Nathan  to  arrive  at  in  his  story.  His  expec 
tation  strained  to  the  utmost,  he  impatiently  inter 
rupts  him  : 

"  And  now  the  judge  ? 

I  long  to  hear  what  words  you  give  the  judge. 
Go  on  1" 

He  hears  what  his  enlightened  mind  quickly  and 
joyfully  understands.  The  contest  between  the 
religions  lets  loose  all  the  passions,  which  com 
pletely  obscure  all  that  is  genuine  in  religion.  So 
long  as  the  sons  stand  up  each  for  his  own  right 
with  mutual  hatred,  all  these  rings  are  false.  "The 
genuine  ring  was  lost."  "Oh,  excellent!"  cries 
Saladin. 

When  the  modest  judge  gives  his  counsel  instead 
of  a  sentence — Let  every  one  believe  his  ring  the 
true  one,  prove  the  power  of  the  stone  in  his  ring, 
awaken  the  love  of  others  by  his  love,  then  will  the 
day  of  reconciliation  come,  and  with  it  the  wiser 
judge,  who  has  no  further  need  to  be  a  judge — 
light  breaks  in  upon  the  Sultan. 

Nathan  feels  he  is  understood.  He  speaks  di 
rectly  to  Saladin — 

"  If,  therefore,  Saladin,  you  feel  yourself 
That  promised,  wiser  man — " 

And  here  wre  see  the  true  effect  of  the  story  on 
Saladin.  He  is  not  intoxicated  by  this  view  of  the 
great  tendency  of  the  age,  or  by  the  task  which 
claims  him ;  he  sees  only  how  far  he  and  his  age 
are  from  the  goal ;  feels  but  his  own  insignificance 
in  comparison  with  it : 

"I?    Dust!— I?   Naught! 
O  God! 

Nathan,  Nathan ! 

Not  ended  are  the  thousand,  thousand  years 
Your  judge  foretold  ;  not  mine  to  claim  his  seat. 
Go,  go  !— But  be  my  friend." 


ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE   WISE.  249 

This  scene  between  Saladin  and  Nathan  has  be 
come  a  pattern  which  has  provoked  -the  imitation 
of  dramatic  poets — this  idea  of  bringing  the  ruler 
of  the  world  and  the  world's  wise  man  face  to  face. 
The  greatest  imitation  is  the  famous  scene  between 
Philip  and  Posa,  in  Schiller's  Don  Carlos — between 
the  despot  of  the  world  and  the  citizen  of  the  world. 
I  give  the  scene  in  Nathan  the  preference.  The 
greater  the  difference  in  the  nature  of  the  two  char 
acters,  the  more  skill  and  imagination  is  displayed 
in  their  meeting.  With  the  simplest  means  Lessing 
gradually  produces  the  greatest  effects  ;  and  when 
the  sympathy  between  Nathan  and  Saladin  finally 
reveals  itself,  and  is  cemented  into  friendship,  we 
see  what  lay  at  the  foundation  of  both  characters. 
It  is  this  that  makes  the  effect  of  the  whole  so 
genuine  and  irresistible.  How  excellently  Lessing 
has  introduced  the  dialogue  !  The  Sultan,  throwing 
out  his  question  at  first  as  on  the  spur  of  the  mo 
ment,  with  a  sovereign's  caprice,  a  royal  dilettan 
tism,  requiring  not  only  a  direct  answer  to  this 
most  difficult  and  embarrassing  of  questions,  but 
requiring  it  at  once,  as  quick  as  possible  : 

"  Speak— 

Your  answer  !    Or  a  moment  would  you  have 
To  think  upon  it  ?    Good  ;  I  grant  it  you. 
But  quick,  be  quick  with  your  reflections. " 

In  every  word  a  Sultan  !  And  now,  impressed 
by  the  significance  of  the  question,  as  Nathan  goes 
on  with  his  story  until,  at  last,  all  the  Sultan  disap 
pears,  and  he  cries  out :  "  I  ?  Dust ! — I  ?  Naught !" 

This  scene  underwent  a  singular  test,  when,  in 
March,  1842,  a  Greek  translation  of  Lessing's  Na 
than  was  acted  in  Constantinople  before  Greeks  and 
Turks.  The  Turks  were  at  first  amazed  that  the 


250  ENS  AY   ON  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

Jew  should  be  so  much  at  ease  with  the  Sultan. 
But  at  the  story  of  the  three  rings  they  broke  out 
into  shouts  of  applause. 

In  Saladin,  everything  is  on  a  large  scale.  Sittah 
loves  him  as  only  a  sister  can  love  such  a  brother. 
Her  soul  is  fashioned  after  this  pattern,  and  the 
kindred  traits  are  unmistakable  in  the  sister.  But 
nature  has  diminished  them  into  womanly  propor 
tions,  and  made  of  Sittah  not  only  a  repetition,  but 
a  supplement  of  Saladin.  In  his  grand  mode  of 
thinking  and  feeling,  Saladin  is  apt  to  overlook 
trifles.  Just  in  these  trifles  does  Sittah  show  more 
clear-sightedness,  more  knowledge  of  the  world, 
more  tact.  Saladin  cannot  escape  being  deceived, 
embarrassed.  Sittah  is  less  often  misled.  Her 
precautions,  her  judgment,  are  helpful  in  anticipat 
ing  and  relieving  her  brother.  So  in  little  things 
she  exercises  a  kind  of  authority  over  Saladin,  to 
which  he  willingly  submits.  The  alliance  with 
Richard  was  a  favorite  scheme  of  Saladin.  Sittah 
has  always  laughed  at  his  sanguine  dreams.  She 
knows  more  of  the  Christians  and  their  pride.  Her 
glance  is  keener  for  such  things  than  Saladin's,  and 
her  spirit  less  noble  in  bearing  them.  She  is  bitter 
against  that  pride  of  religion.  He  counts  it  among 
things  petty  enough  to  be  overlooked. 

Sittah's  character  is  by  no  means  as  simple  as 
Saladin's.  She  is  actuated  by  a  multitude  of  almost 
imperceptible  feminine  motives.  While  accomplish 
ing  one  noble  purpose,  she  manages  to  gratify 
numerous  minor  interests.  In  this  lies  her  cun 
ning  ;  and  she  is  never  quite  satisfied  unless  she  can 
employ  cunning,  as  is  illustrated  in  her  preparation 
for  Saladin's  interview  with  Nathan. 

Looking  at  the  noble  side  of  Saladin's  character, 


ESSAY  ON  NATHAN  THE  WISE.  251 

we  have  failed  to  note  the  imperfections  which  must 
be  found  in  even  so  great  a  nature  : — not  those 
universal  imperfections  which  belong  to  the  limi 
tations  of  humanity,  but  such  as  are  peculiar  to 
characters  of  this  sort — natural  ingredients  of  this 
kind  of  greatness. 

He  has  won  for  himself  the  sovereign  control. 
His  powers  and  his  destiny  are  in  perfect  harmony. 
He  can  follow  his  inclinations  freely,  without  inves 
tigating  them  too  closely.  His  native  greatness  of 
mind  leads  him  into  the  path  of  greatness.  Hence 
his  disinterestedness ;  it  has  no  deeper  source. 
Saladin  could  hardly  resolve  to  do  anything  con 
trary  to  his  natural  inclinations.  Here  ends  his 
unselfishness.  Generosity  is  his  inclination,  his 
passion.  To  check  this  passion  would  be  to  con 
quer  himself.  A  wise  economy  in  his  case  would 
be  a  test  of  earnest  self-sacrifice.  He  does  not  stand 
the  test.  He  is  lavish  because  he  cannot  help  it. 

Before  his  conversation  with  Nathan,  the  Sultan  is 
not  conscious  of  any  reasons  for'his  tolerance,  and 
seems  never  to  have  raised  the  question  of  the  in 
ward  worth  of  religion.  When  he  says,  "Let  me 
hear  the  reasons  which  I  have  not  myself  the  time 
to  find,"  he  is  in  earnest  in  wanting  them  ;  at  the 
same  time  the  question  betrays  the  most  immature 
conceptions  of  the  source  and  nature  of  human 
belief.  When  Nathan,  in  his  story,  makes  true 
toleration  rest  upon  deep  religious  experience,  the 
Sultan  would  not  have  been  so  much  startled  had 
the  truth  not  been  a  ne\v  oni  to  him. 

What  is  wanting  in  this  Saladin,  and  always  must 
be  wanting  in  characters  like  his,  is  depth  of  insight, 
reflection,  wisdom.  A  nature  that  rests  only  on 
inclinations,  however  noble,  is  never  sure  of  not 


252  ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE   WISE. 

being  at  moments  false  to  itself.  This  Sultan  may 
have  had  his  fits  of  despotism,  his  outbreaks  of 
violence,  when  passion  mastered  him.  Nothing 
saved  the  Templar  from  Saladin's  vengeance  but  his 
resemblance  to  Saladin's  brother.  Of  himself  he 
says  :  "I  too,  alas  !  have  many  sides,  which  seem 
hard  to  reconcile." 


NATHAN  AND  RECHA. 

It  is  indispensable  to  the  firm  establishment  of 
unselfishness  and  love  of  humanity  that  they  should 
rest,  not  on  transient  emotions,  but  on  true  wisdom 
and  experience.  Disinterestedness  becomes  an  ac 
tual  virtue  only  when  knowledge  of  the  world  guards 
it  from  becoming  misanthropy,  and  when  wisdom 
shields  it  from  the  illusions  of  passion.  So  we  rise 
to  the  height  of  our  poem.  One  character  stands 
before  us,  to  which  the  others  are  but  stepping- 
stones.  Whatever  of  truth  is  found  in  the  Templar's 
self-devotion  and  liberality  of  spirit,  in  the  friar's 
humility,  in  the  dervise's  unselfishness  and  asceti 
cism,  in  Saladin's  generosity  and  magnanimity,  is 
all  united  in  Nathan  under  the  control  of  experience 
and  wisdom. 

The  only  character  in  the  poem  with  whom 
Nathan  has  nothing  in  common  is  the  Patriarch. 
Even  Daja,  looking  down  upon  the  Jew  in  her 
pride  of  Christianity,  must  admire  him:  "Who 
doubts  that  Nathan  is  honor,  generosity  itself?" 
All  the  others  feel  the  bond  of  a  common  human 
ity,  and  are  irresistibly  attracted  towards  him.  ' '  We 
must  be  friends,"  says  the  Templar.  "Be  my 
friend!"  pleads  Saladin.  "You  are  a  Christian, 


ESSAY   OX  XATIIA.V    THE    WISE,  253 

Nathan  !  Yes,  by  heaven  !  you  are  a  Christian  !" 
cries  the  friar.  He  is  the  only  one  Al-Hafi  wants 
to  take  with  him  to  the  Ganges. 

This  Nathan  possesses  the  power  of  the  original 
ring,  the  art  of  winning  hearts.  He  knows  men  ; 
and  because  he  knows  them,  he  can  be  patient  with 
them.  Narrowness  comes  from  ignorance.  To 
purify  men,  is  to  educate  them.  How  can  they 
be  educated  without  dealing  with  each  one  accord 
ing  to  his  own  nature,  without  changing  ignorance 
into  a  need  and  a  capacity  ?  Lessing  understood 
religion  to  be  the  education  of  the  human  race,  and 
from  this  idea,  the  last  he  bequeathed  to  us,  he  ex 
plains  the  historical  necessity  of  different  forms  of 
revelation  and  belief. 

A  type  of  religion,  in  this  sense, 'is  his  Nathan. 
In  him,  toleration  is  not  a  mere  matter  of  inclina 
tion  and  personal  gratification,  but  of  determination, 
character,  moral  training.  Such  a  training  is  the 
ripest  fruit  of  a  mature  experience.  In  every  word 
and  act  of  Nathan,  we  trace  this  impress  of  perfect 
maturity.  His  judgments  are  drawn  from  the  ful 
ness  of  experience  ;  his  sentences  are  truths  that  he 
has  lived  :  they  flow  from  his  heart,  simple,  natural, 
sure.  He  has  made  himself  what  he  is.  He  has 
fought  the  fight  of  self-abnegation,  and  its  hardest 
battles  are  behind  him.  He  has  been  purified  by 
trials.  The  Christians  had  slain  his  wife  and  sons  : 
he  took  his  revenge  by  becoming  a  father  to  a 
Christian  child,  and  never  spoke  of  his  deed. 

Here  we  read  his  character.  His  self-sacrifice  is  his 
resolution.  After  this  trial  there  need  be  no  second. 
His  will  is  not  in  sympathy  with  inclination  ;  it  is 
not  natural  nobility,  like  Saladin's,  but  moral.  His 
self-sacrifice  has  cast  off  all  that  is  unreal  ;  it  stum- 

22 


254  ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

bles  not  at  pride  or  fear ;  it  strays  neither  into 
misanthropy  nor  asceticism.  He  who  has  been 
brought  so  near  to  hatred  of  a  creed,  will  not  arro 
gantly  condemn  hatred  of  a  creed  in  others.  He 
who  has  so  wrestled  with  himself  and  his  passions, 
can  make  allowance  for  passions  in  others  :  the 
less  he  has  yielded  to  his  own,  the  more  allowance 
he  will  make.  Such  self-conquest  is  the  purest 
source  of  human  knowledge  and  of  love  in  the  wide 
sense. 

But  why  did  Lessing  make  Nathan  a  Jew? 

That  question  is  always  asked,  and  often  in  a 
tone  of  blame.  "The  Patriarch  a  Christian— and 
Nathan  a  Jew!"  people  exclaim.  "In  the  Patri 
arch,  Lessing  has  gratified  his  hatred  of  Christianity  ; 
in  Nathan,  his  predilection  for  Judaism.  In  the 
Patriarch,  he  was  representing  his  enemy,  the  Pastor 
Gotze  ;  in  Nathan,  his  friend  the  Jewish  philoso 
pher,  Moses  Mendelssohn."  And  so  the  choice  of 
these  characters  is  accounted  for  by  the  prejudices 
of  the  poet,  who,  it  is  claimed,  was  in  sympathy 
with  everything  hostile  to  Christianity.  So  must 
judgments  err  which  start  from  the  idea  that  the 
three  religions  are  personified  in  the  poem. 

Why  is  Nathan  a  Jew  ?  To  answer  this  question 
aright,  we  need  consider  neither  Lessing's  friend 
ship  for  Mendelssohn,  nor  the  reaction  of  that  time 
in  favor  of  Judaism.  We  only  need  to  understand 
the  character  as  the  poem  presents  it — a  character 
in  which  toleration  springs  from  self-renunciation, 
and  is  the  result  of  an  effort.  It  is  easy  to  be  tol 
erant  where  there  is  no  reason  for  being  otherwise. 
The  virtue  of  toleration  is  not  easy — it  must  spring 
from  conflicts. 

Take,   now,   a  religion  by  nature  intolerant  and 


ESSAY   ON  NATIIAS    THE    WISE.  255 

proud,  the  proudest,  the  most  oppressed  of  all  the 
religions  of  the  world.  Imagine  a  man  permitted 
by  his  religion  to  esteem  himself  the  chosen  of  God, 
but  condemned  by  the  world,  despised  and  rejected 
of  men.  If  his  soul  yields  to  this  twofold  pressure, 
and  follows  the  natural  course  of  human  passions, 
it  must  be  consumed  by  hatred  and  revenge.  There 
must  be  kindled  a  thirst  for  vengeance,  so  demoni 
acal,  so  beastly  in  beastly  natures,  that  it  would  tear 
the  pound  of  flesh  from  an  enemy's  heart,  if  only  to 
bait  a  hook  with  it.  Yet  when  these  passions, 
which  in  their  worst  and  lowest  forms  make  a  Shy- 
lock,  are  conquered  by  a  noble  soul — when  tolera- 
tio  i  is  wrested  from  a  religion  at  once  the  proudest 
anJ  most  oppressed — we  have  a  Nathan.  He  will 
not  now,  indeed,  narrowly  represent  his  religion  ; 
but  toleration  would  not  cost  what  it  does,  if  he  did 
not  prize  his  religion  and  were  not  in  sympathy 
with  it.  He  still  feels  it  to  be  his  religion,  the  faith 
of  his  people  and  his  fathers — the  faith  to  which  he 
is  linked  by  a  thousand  indissoluble  ties.  He  does 
not  represent  Judaism,  but  he  is  and  remains  a 
jew  —  not  because  Judaism  is  a  tolerant  religion, 
but  because  it  is  the  reverse.  Who  that  under 
stands  his  character  would  wish  him  otherwise? 
The  admiring  expression  of  the  Templar  describes 
him — "What  a  Jew  !  Who  yet  insists  on  seeming 
wholly,  only  Jew  !" 

Lessing  wished  to  depict  self-renunciation  under 
the  most  unfavorable  conditions,  and  self-seeking 
under  the  most  favorable.  Where  faith  appears  but 
as  the  tool  of  ambition,  every  religion,  as  such,  is 
too  good  to  be  represented.  A  character  like  the 
Patriarch  represents  not  religion,  but  egotism  in 
trenched  behind  religion.  Such  characters  join 


256  ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   TUE    WISE. 

themselves  to  the  dominant  faith  of  their  time,  what 
ever  it  may  be.  They  are  to  be  met  everywhere, 
and  we  are  far  from  making  any  one  form  of  reli 
gious  belief  responsible  for  the  Patriarch. 

It  is  plain  now  why  Lessing  made  his  heartless 
egotist  the  Patriarch,  and  Nathan  a  Jew.  The 
characters  that  he  wanted  to  represent  required  it. 
That  he  should  draw  some  qualities  from  the  life, 
should  trace  in  the  Patriarch  some  likeness  to  the 
pastor  of  Hamburg,  comes  under  the  legitimate 
province  of  the  dramatic  poet. 

Let  us  return  to  Nathan.  What  he  has  learned 
by  experience  he  wishes  to  give  by  education  to  the 
child  who  is  to  take  the  place  of  his  sons.  The 
fruit  of  this  education  is  Recha.  She  is  what  Nathan 
has  made  her.  A  wise  education  forms  our  second 
nature  out  of  the  capacities  of  the  first ;  it  does  not 
destroy,  but  develops  ;  it  seeks  to  cleanse  the  true 
and  bring  it  forward  into  action.  Thus  has  Nathan 
educated  Recha.  In  her,  unselfishness  is  second 
nature,  not  a  hardly  won  virtue.  What  Nathan  has 
worked  out  for  himself  under  the  most  unfavorable 
circumstances  is  developed  in  Recha's  soul  under 
the  most  favorable.  Nathan's  virtue  grows  out  of 
self-conquest — out  of  victory  over  the  proud  and  op 
pressed  religion  in  which  he  was  trained,  and  over 
the  natural  desire  for  revenge  kindled  in  him  by  a 
hard  fate.  Recha's  virtue  from  the  outset  merely 
obeys  the  voice  of  the  tenderest  of  fathers.  She  is 
not  brought  up  as  a  Jewess,  but  merely  as  Nathan's 
daughter.  She  knows  Nathan  only  as  her  father, 
and  the  world  only  through  him.  In  his  hand  her 
soul  feels  safe  and  free ;  and  foreign  to  her  are  all 
representations  that  would  draw  her  away  from  him 
to  another  religion  and  another  home.  To  every 


ESSAY   ON  NATHAN    THE    WISE.  257 

word  of  Nathan's  her  heart  involuntarily  opens ; 
involuntarily  it  closes  against  every  suggestion  of 
Daja.  She  lives  in  her  father.  In  him  is  her 
world,  her  religion,  her  home  ;  away  from  him/her 
thoughts  are  busy  with  him — her  imagination  follows 
him  on  his  journey,  her  soul  trembles  at  his  possi 
ble  dangers  ;  the  thought  of  him  gives  new  percep 
tions — she  feels  his  approach,  she  anticipates  his 
return,  and  her  soul  forsakes  her  body  to  haste  to 
meet  him. 

Here  we  have  the  key-note  of  Recha's  nature. 
The  impulse  of  self-devotion  has  so  the  force  of 
nature  in  her  that  it  amounts  to  a  loss  of  self- 
consciousness.  She  loses  herself  in  her  longing — 
hangs  upon  the  object  of  it  with  all  the  strength  of 
a  youthful,  exuberant  fancy — lives  only  for  this  ob 
ject,  exalted  by  her  unbridled  imagination  above  all 
others.  Such  a  devotion,  amounting  to  the  giving 
up  of  one's  own  consciousness,  is  eccentric.  In 
such  a  condition  of  the  mind  all  sober  judgment  of 
things  is  changed  into  that  excited  fancy  which 
causes  visions  and  dreams.  Now  imagine  this 
Recha  suddenly  in  danger  of  death  by  fire,  sud 
denly  rescued  by  a  stranger  at  a  moment  when  all 
human  aid  seemed  hopeless.  A  boundless  grati 
tude  takes  possession  of  her  imagination,  already 
inclined  to  heavenly  visions ;  her  deliverance  seems 
to  her  a  miracle  of  God,  performed  by  the  inter 
vention  of  a  guardian  angel.  So  to  her  fancy  the 
Templar  becomes  an  angel.  It  is  in  the  nature  of 
true  gratitude  to  ennoble  the  benefactor.  To  criti 
cise  a  favor  is  a  prelude  to  ingratitude. 

Nathan  sees  at  once  the  only  way  of  purging 
Recha's  fancy  of  extravagance.  How  considerately 
and  lovingly  he  at  first  enters  into  her  views,  that 
22* 


258  ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE    WISE. 

he  may  afterward  correct  them  with  firmness  !  With 
a  father's  fond  flattery  he  first  accepts  her  idea  of  an 
angelic  apparition.  "  Recha  would  be  worth  an 
angel's  visiting  ;  and  would,  in  him,  see  naught 
more  fair  than  he,  in  her."  He  grants  her  the  angel 
and  the  miracle  ;  yet  skilfully  makes  her  accustomed 
to  the  ideas  that  the  angel  might  be  a  man,  and  the 
miracle  be  wrought  by  natural  means. 

"  The  greatest  miracle  of  all  is  this : 
That  true  and  genuine  miracles  become 
Of  no  significance." 

This  dialogue  shows  us  again  in  what  faith  Na 
than  lives.  For  him  there  is  but  one  sure  test  of 
religion — self-renunciation  ;  and  but  one  test  of 
self-renunciation — the  voluntary  subordination  of 
one's  own  will  to  others.  All  the  powers  within  us 
must  work  together  for  this.  The  true  faith,  as  far 
as  it  is  possible  in  humanity,  must  be  tested  by  the 
heart.  Man  cannot  hold  religious  truth  as  an  ex 
ternal  possession,  a  philosopher's  stone  ;  it  must  be 
the  very  kernel  of  his  being.  "  By  their  fruits  ye 
shall  know  them."  Holding  this  view  of  religion, 
Nathan  had  never  thought  of  putting  to  himself  the 
question  suddenly  proposed  to  him  by  Saladin.  "  I 
pray  you,  tell  me  what  belief — what  law  has  most 
commended  itself  to  you."  The  question  takes 
him  by  surprise.  It  is  not  in  his  line  of  thought. 
It  may  be  a  snare,  or  it  may  be  the  expression  of 
the  Sultan's  sincere  desire  for  truth.  In  vain  Nathan 
draws  back,  saying  :  "  Sultan,  I  am  a  Jew. "  Sala 
din  presses  for  a  decisive  answer.  The  soliloquy  in 
which  he  prepares  his  answer  is  perfect  in  its  way. 
None  but  Lessing  could  have  written  it.  It  should 
be  read  with  a  full  appreciation  of  the  fact,  that 
Lessing's  punctuation  marks  are  significant,  elo- 


ESSAY   ON  NATHAN   THE   WISE.  259 

quent.  Every  comma,  every  semicolon  speaks. 
Some  writers  use  dashes  to  conceal  a  want  of 
thought  ;  Lessing  uses  them  when  too  many 
thoughts  crowd  into  one  moment ;  they  denote  that 
silence  which  is  most  eloquent. 

Nathan  is  not  the  traditional  Jew,  and  does  not 
choose  to  be  ;  but  he  is  and  always  will  be  a  Jew. 
Why  ?  Perhaps  this  simple  question  is  raised  in 
his  mind  now  for  the  first  time.  The  answer  is 
plain.  It  is  the  faith  of  his  people  and  of  his 
fathers,  born  in  him  with  his  birth,  woven  into  all 
the  history  of  his  life,  a  part  of  himself.  Abandon 
ing  his  religion  would  be  like  abjuring  his  fathers. 
It  is  his  father's  ring.  So  it  is,  save  in  characters 
of  exceptional  strength  or  exceptional  weakness, 
with  any  form  of  belief  in  which  one  has  been 
brought  up. 

The  reader  has,  we  trust,  appreciated  that  our 
poem  embodies  ideas  which  place  it  beyond  the  re 
quirements  of  merely  dramatic  art,  and  that  it  is 
aptly  called  Nathan  the  Wise,  from  its  fulness  of 
real  wisdom.  Surely  this  poem,  if  any,  deserves  to 
be  prefaced  by  the  motto  of  the  old  philosopher  : 
"  Enter  here  ;  for  here,  too,  are  Gods." 


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Heinrich  Heine.       By  Matthew  Arnold. 

16mo.     Price,  25  cents. 

"  Matthew  Arnold's  essays  might  be  cited  as  amour  the  best  examples 
we  have  of  real  essay  writiug  amid  the  acres  of  twaddle  which  assume 
the  name." — The  London  Reader. 

"Tlie  paper  of  the  month  (August  1863)  is  a  notice  of  Hdnrich  Heine 
by  Mr.  Matthew  Arnold,  one  of  those  exquisite  morsels  of  criticism, 
expressed  in  the  clearest  of  words,  which  only  he  can  wiite." — London 
A  Ihenxwm 


Co-operative   Stores:     their    History, 

Organization,  and  Management,  based  on  the  recent 
work  of  EUGENE  RICHTKB,  with  annotations  and  amend 
ments,  rendering  the  work  specially  adapted  for  use  in 
the  United  States.  Paper,  50  cents.  Cloth,  $1.00. 

"This  useful  little  volume  will  help  to  a  correct  understanding 
of  the  principles  involved  in  co-operative  enterprises." — 2f,  Y. 
Eveniny  Pout. 

"Clear,  explicit,  and  exhaustive." — Phild.  Presf. 

"Undoubtedly  the  most  practical  work  on  the  subject  in  the 
English  language." — Nation. 

"Explains  the  modus operandi  from  beginning  to  end." — Bos- 
tan  1'Oiit. 

"  We  commend  it  to  economists,  public-spirited  citizens,  and 
prudent  housekeepers." — Boston  Commonwealth. 

Marriage  in  the  United  States.  Trans 
lated  from  the  French  of  AUGUST  CARLIER,  by  Dr.  B. 
JOY  JEFFRIES.  A  veiy  full  treatise  on  the  subject  in 
its  legal,  moral,  and  social  aspects.  The  author  has 
combined  with  eainest  and  unprejudiced  observation  a 
careful  study  of  authorities  and  statistics. 

"  The  author  points  out  with  unshrinking  fidelity  the  faults  of 
which  he  bus  been  cognizant  in  Auieiican  domestic  life ;  he  treats 

of  delic°.te  subjects  in  a  delicate  manner The  work 

will  wel!  reward  an  attentive  study." — Tril'iine. 

"Some  of  his  trenchant  criticisms  upon  our  manners  and  cus 
toms  will  serve  a  useful  purpose.  His  analysis  of  our  divorce 
laws  is  peculiarly  worthy  of  attention."— A7".  Y.  Evening  Pout. 

Short  Whist  (Laws  of.)     Edited  by  J". 

L.  BALDWIN.  The  Standard  adopted  by  the  London  Clubs. 
And  a  Treatise  on  the  Game  by  J.  C.  16mo.,  cl.  $1.00. 
Paper,  50  cts. 

"  A  treatise  on  whist  as  attractive  and  clean  as  a  missal  belong 
ing  to  one  of  the  devotees  of  Mother  Church.  Having  been  for 
thirty-six  years  a  player  and  lover  of  the  game,  we  commend  the 
book  to  a  beginner  desirous  of  playing  well.'1 — Boston  Common' 
wealth. 

"  Hoyle  would  almost  have  gone  beside  himself  with  delight 
could  he  have  seen  the  art  in  which  he  was  an  adept  dignified 
with  such  exquisite  typography  and  tasteful  binding  as  are  ex 
pended  on  this  little  manual." — New  York  Times. 


